Of Much Madness and Reason
by SheWroteintheWind
Summary: AU. As Sakura is about to discover, choosing whose side you're on can be more than a matter of right and wrong, but a matter of life and death. To figure out where she stands, she has to embrace the reasoning of an unlikely ally, which may just mean accepting the concept that you must hold your loved ones close and your enemies closer.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:**** Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto.**

**Rated M:**** Due to coarse language, violence, and some adult themes.**

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><p>Looking in the mirror, which really isn't much of a mirror at all but a thin, corroded sheet of aluminum bolted to the wall inside the institute's front lobby restroom, Sakura Haruno wonders what her interviewee will make of her. Not that she particularly cares, no, but his mind is interesting. Will he pick her apart, unwrap her from the carefully chosen neutral ensemble she had laid out the night before, and see her for all her faults, all her insecurities?<p>

Or could she beat him at his own game?

Inhaling a calming breath to sweep away her nerves, Sakura examines her expression for any signs of cowardice. She's a bit younger looking for her true age than she'd like to be, a trait that normally wouldn't be such a bad thing except for what she's about to attempt. She needs to be tough. Immovable. Stoic.

All the things she knows she isn't.

But the man she's about to meet certainly is. The best she can manage is a perfect façade for just long enough to get him to say everything she needs to hear. It'll be a race against the clock.

_I can do it._

She throws the damp paper towel in the trash can and exits on the last highs of confidence she can manage to conjure up. On the other side of the door, she nearly bumps into the guard waiting to escort her to the basement level. It had been a quick decision during the culprit's apprehension that he was not to be detained at Konoha's own maximum security facilities where there was too much speculation as to how he would be received.

_People do crazy things for their loved ones. Even when they've been betrayed._

Sakura knows the truth in that sentiment all too well. She's guilty of it.

"Ready?"

Sakura nods once, a firm affirmation to the question even though her stomach is churning with anything but confidence. Walking alongside officer Kankuro, her friend and current police escort, Sakura is desperately hoping his usual antics and offhand comments will make an appearance within the next minute – anything to help put her at ease.

But perhaps sensing the seriousness and significance of this occasion, Kankuro has reigned in his normal pursuits at humor and leads the way with focused determination. She had half expected him to make an obnoxious show of checking out her butt as she walked by in her new heels. This side of Kankuro, the silent and business-minded side, is unsettling. It warns her of what's to come and she clenches her hands into loose fists.

Wearily, she checks the belt fitted snuggly around the waist of his uniform, uncertain if the sight of the baton and gun are reassuring or daunting in their presence. With only the clacking of their footsteps down the metal stairs serving as conversation, Sakura hopes her cell phone will ring in the next twenty seconds so she can answer to the gentle voice of Shizune or the harsh, barking orders of Tsunade. She doesn't care which. So long as the news she receives informs her that they've changed their minds; that she no longer has to descend into the shadowy bowels of Suna's maximum security correctional facility to face off with a man whose psychological state cannot be consistently evaluated.

Insane or genius? No psychologist had been able to definitively answer that question. And Sakura is no psychologist which makes this entire situation even more preposterous to her. What could Tsunade have been thinking?

_Or drinking._

Kankuro wraps his knuckles brusquely against the door that is Sakura's entrance into the tunnel of nightmares.

_Please, no one be home._

Her frantic mind's attempts at humor almost make a watered down and clumsy smile slip across her face, but the dull buzzing of an electronic bell quickly calls back her attention to the present situation. Kankuro has already punched in the access code on the dial pad next to the door, signaling to the officer on the other side that he has the proper clearance.

Her alert senses catch the disharmonious scraping of metal against concrete as she imagines the guard on the other side pushing back his seat to answer their call. She can hear the whirring of gears and lock mechanisms within the door stirring to life, and within seconds, one final, heavy clank of metal seems to put the door at peace.

With a heavy groan, the door opens inward and Kankuro ushers Sakura ahead of him. Nervously, she steps through the threshold and nods at the grim-faced guard who had opened the door for them.

A wave of light headedness overwhelms her as she takes in the row of prison cells on either side of the narrow passageway. The Tunnel, as Kankuro had referred to it earlier in the week during one of several meetings to help prepare her for what she is about to face, ends in a blank, sand-colored brick wall. There is only one entrance. One escape.

Never before has she so strongly felt the impulse to turn around, to assure her paranoid mind that the door still exists.

_That I won't be trapped down here. With him._

So abruptly that she can't control the reflexive jump of shock, a gentle weight alights on each of Sakura's shoulders.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, easy there," Kankuro drawls with a touch of amusement.

Sakura looks up over the back of her shoulder to see Kankuro's laughing face peering down at her, a hint of concern evident around the tightness of his eyes.

"Do you still think you can handle this?"

Sakura inhales through her nose twice, feeling the comforting weight of Kankuro's hands providing a slight resistance to the rise of her shoulders with each breath. She feels like a prized fighter about to enter the ring. She's Sakura Haruno – top of her class, a medical prodigy under the tutelage of the renowned Tsunade-sama, and she is not one to back down. Certainly not to any criminal.

_But it's him_ a tiny, niggling voice of doubt worms its way into her thoughts.

"Yes," she says calmly, proud to hear the control in her voice, "It won't be a problem."

"Good," with a final squeeze of her shoulders, Kankuro releases his grip on her, "Remember, Sakura…This is a long shot and this sort of work is way outside your area of expertise. No one is expecting any miracles, but the fact that you consented to this says a lot about your character."

Sakura turns all the way around to face him, both challenge and questioning dancing in her eyes.

Absentmindedly scratching the back of his head, Kankuro's gaze drags slowly down the line of cells to his left, "And who knows, maybe something will come of this. Nothing else has helped. I just feel bad that someone like you has to be pulled into this."

The hint of challenge now bursts into green flames as Sakura's sharp eyes narrow and Kankuro inwardly gulps, fretting that he just set off her volatile temper.

"You're right, I _shouldn't_ have been pulled into this; it's completely asinine to give into a criminal's demands all because there appears to be no other way," Sakura's voice dips low and she feels sorry for flinging these words at Kankuro. He isn't the one that deserves this, but damn it if her phone call this morning with Konoha's Chief of Police hadn't irked her to no end.

"But it doesn't matter now because here I am. And I'm going to make him talk."

Sakura's declaration is crisp and determined. It's only after the muffled echo dies down in the tunnel that a wave of regret rolls through her body.

_He_ could most certainly hear her.

Swallowing the lump that has just lodged itself in her windpipe, Sakura decides she should hold her waggling tongue for now before it gets her killed.

Kankuro seems unable to detect the sudden anxiety now coiling around her throat and cheerfully claps her on the back, "That's the Sakura I know and fear! Ok," his tone changes, taking on a decidedly more serious note, "Baki will be standing guard here the entire time so all you have to do is call out should you be given any trouble. Unfortunately, I have a meeting scheduled in the next ten minutes so I can't stay here with you – and Temari will fry my ass if I'm late again," he makes a face at the mention of his sister.

"I'll be fine," she responds, notably more subdued in volume.

"Alright, he's on the left, all the way at the end," Kankuro salutes, "Good luck."

Sakura's heartbeat speeds up to a nearly uncomfortable rate once she hears the door close behind her friend. Yes, Baki remains behind with her, but his impression of a stone does nothing to alleviate her jitters.

_I can do this._

Maybe if she says it enough she'll begin to believe it.

Feeling Baki's watchful eyes sear into her back, she takes off down the tunnel, mindful of keeping to the middle. The particular criminal she is about to have an unpleasant little chat session with isn't the only resident down here in the basement level. The first few cells on either side are occupied by men gone wild and mad. A few don't bother to stir as she trails past, but most clamber up from their barren cots to cling to the bars separating them from touching the first feminine flesh they've seen in months. For some, years.

Pointedly, she refuses to make eye contact with any of them, her gaze locked onto a point far ahead on the back wall. She only wishes she could deafen her ears to their calls for attention and their lewd comments at her dress.

It's enough to make her want to turn back and run.

But she holds firm to her path, her feet moving as though a magnet pulls her along a predetermined path. Her mind blocks out their frenzied jeers.

_At least I won't have to deal with that kind of behavior from him._

In actuality, all of the files about her interviewee had mentioned the disturbing quality of his politeness in dealing with their inquiries. Not just with the psychologists who had examined him, but with the officers who had apprehended and booked him. There had been no threat, no hostility, no attempt at violence. By anyone's standards he has been nothing but cooperative.

His behavior has been completely incongruous with the crimes he has been accused of.

But he is guilty, of that Sakura has little to no doubt.

_It's all a game to him. He thinks he's so superior compared to the rest of us peons._

Contempt contorts her features into a scowl as she reaches the middle of the tunnel, the cells now empty of convicts. He has been isolated in the best way the Suna officers could manage.

And there's plenty of reason for that.

At last she reaches it, the hole he has been confined to for the last three weeks since his discharge from the hospital. And what a lovely hole it is, she thinks, surprised at her own sadistic thoughts. Blank, sand-colored walls, enclosing him on three sides while the fourth, the one standing between them, is a sheet of thick glass reinforced with steel beams. Inside, for the occupant's benefit, he is granted a pallet-like bed mounted to the back wall with a mattress that can't be more than a mere five centimeters thick, and a thin, gray blanket. Of course, he has a toilet out in the open which, for the life of her, she can't imagine him using, yet can't help but mentally snicker at. Other than that, there's a small sink to wash at (though she spies no soap), and that concludes the little tour.

All in all, his hole is more like a tank, really, with him as the restless animal on display.

_Good._

More important than the cell is the man trapped inside, the man staring straight back at her as though he has nothing to hide.

_Keep pretending that, asshole._

"Miss Haruno," his voice causes the hair on the back of her neck to bristle, "Such a pleasure to see you again."

"Yes, well, I wish I could say the same," she comments dryly, "Itachi."

He emits an amused humming sound and Sakura can feel the way her eyebrows knit together in distaste.

Sitting on his bed, with his back resting against the wall, the Uchiha lounges with one leg dangling over the edge of the mattress and the other bent at the knee, an arm draped carelessly across it.

_Comfy?_

"Please, why don't you sit? I suspect you have a lot to say," he suggests, his chin inclining ever so slightly in the direction of the metal fold-out chair that some guard had thought to set out for her meeting. Irritation sizzles under the surface of her composure.

Still, she isn't going to be petty. If this act is all a game then his objective is to infuriate her. She won't give him the satisfaction. Taking her seat as calmly as she can, Sakura smoothes the wrinkles in the lap of her skirt and crosses her ankles, regarding her present company with a critical eye. Likewise, she can tell he's doing the same.

She wonders what he makes of her, of the young woman with pink hair and green eyes. The young woman he may or may not remember as a silly little girl chasing after his younger brother and making a complete fool of herself. She wonders what he thinks of her as she sits across from him, prim and poised in her collared, white blouse, knee length, navy skirt, and red heels. Has she grown up? Has she become wise to the ways of the world?

Or maybe he still sees her as a ridiculous, unsophisticated child.

It doesn't matter.

As she studies him, she takes in the whiteness of his pale skin that almost appears luminescent under the intense lights overhead in his cell. It could be some mild form of torture to deprive him of sleep. She doesn't care.

She takes in the long, ebony hair now hanging loose from its tie. Most likely, it had been confiscated on the precaution that he might entertain the idea of self-harm.

_However a rubber band can be used for that._

From what she remembers of him _before_, Itachi was never flashy, but dressed well – which was to be expected from any member of the proud Uchiha lineage. He came from money. But now, just like every other soulless individual locked away in here, he is garbed in the drab, shapeless, gray uniform of all Suna inmates.

Sakura holds back a smirk, but just barely.

Lastly, she takes in the deep, inky pools that serve as his eyes. From this distance she can't distinguish pupil from iris though she knows it doesn't make much difference. They practically bleed into each other. But his eyes have always been off-putting; they are the one feature that remained clear in her memories for all these years.

She knows he's waiting for her to begin. It's her turn to say something in their little charade of an exchange. Tempting as it is to mimic a rock for the next hour – or however long this drags out – she made a promise, albeit a forced promise, to this man's father to speak to him.

_Funny how two people from the same family can sit on opposite sides of the law._

It's an intriguing thought, she must admit. The whole nature vs. nurture debate…

"Sakura."

She flinches at the sound of her name said in his voice. It just isn't right. He can't say it as though he knows her; that'd be like him claiming he owns a part of her.

"It's Miss Haruno to you," she snaps, her eyes betraying how startled she is upon noticing he's risen from his position reclining against the back wall and has now closed the distance between them, standing just beyond the glass and right before her seat.

"As you wish," he concedes, lowering his head in a mock gesture of submission. With eyes still on the floor at his bare feet, he continues, "So what have they sent you to relay to me? I'm sure you would like to get this over with as painlessly as possible."

"Is that a threat?" her voice sharpens to a point, ready to slash.

"No," he whispers, "I merely suggest it for your own benefit…and judging by the coffee stain on the hem of your shirt, the shadows under your eyes, and your rough attempt at concealing it, I believe you'd much rather be at home in bed.

Not a hint of smugness lingers in his words, yet who could possibly say something like that so bluntly without the intention to provoke?

_Polite my ass!_

And damn him for noticing the coffee spill! She can still feel the slightly damp fabric sticking to her skin from where she had dabbed at it with a paper towel in the restroom. Her fingers itch to swipe open the compact mirror tucked away in her purse to check her mascara.

She had been a bit rushed this morning to get to the correctional facility after hanging up the phone with _his_ father.

She hates those eyes, so like his brother's, yet so entirely different.

"Well, now that the psycho has analyzed me, perhaps we can switch places, hm?" Sakura grits out between tight lips. Pulling out the bundle of documents attached to a clipboard in her tote bag, Sakura flips through a few pages before glancing back up at Itachi's silent form. His shadow does not reach quite far enough to fall across her, and for some reason that brightens her mood.

"Now, that's not exactly professional is it, Miss Haruno? To address your patient as a psycho straight to his face?"

Sakura almost chuckles at the slight tone of surprise his admonishment carries.

"Please," she says sarcastically, "You and I both know I'm not here today in the role of doctor. I'm not even a psychologist. The only reason I'm here is because you insisted you would speak to no one but the 'pink doctor.' Couldn't remember my name after all these years, Uchiha-san?"

At that, the corner of his mouth pulls up, but the twitch of muscle is restrained from going any further than that.

"Yes, that does sound familiar. I believe the pain medication was partly to blame, and no, I didn't forget," he responds.

"Before we continue any further, I'll give you my take on the situation and how this is all going to play out," Sakura says nonchalantly, uncrossing her legs in favor of crossing her arms, pleased with herself that her earlier fears have dissipated for the most part, "This is all a ruse to buy a little time before your court date. Maybe by baiting the police with potential information on your _association's _activities you can run their task force around in circles and get some laughs. Maybe you'll drop a few half-truths here and there to keep things going, maybe bargaining to get better health care in here since I'm sure that medicine you're on isn't going to do the trick for long."

Sakura's saccharine smile is truly anything but sweet.

"Is that so, Miss Haruno?" Itachi asks slowly, in a way that Sakura knows he doesn't expect an answer.

Without reading any of the printed words, Sakura flips through her packet of information on Itachi's medical charts, his brief interrogation with the police, and even the official report of his arrest. It had been a short account to read.

"I have another theory too," she offers after a moment's silence. Itachi's head lifts, his gaze dead centered on her.

"I think you're a vile human being who deserves worse than whatever punishment the judicial system is going to hand down to you. You've wrecked so many lives you can't possibly be aware of the extent of your actions. How much grief are you to blame for?" she asks rhetorically, knowing he'll keep quiet on this.

Licking her lips and forcing her anger into succinct, linear thoughts, she continues, "But my other theory is this: you're not infallible and you know this. You're sick and weak and rather than die a felon without a home, you came back to Konoha to turn yourself in. To make amends as best you can because you don't have much time left. You're certain of that, so you might as well give the most important people you've hurt some peace of mind."

In the dead, stale air of the tunnel, the only sound is the hum of electricity channeling through the ceiling lights glaring fiercely down on them.

But finally, slowly and in small bursts, the silence is cracked like an egg and Sakura's mouth drops open in shock as her ears are greeted with first the soft chuckle and then the full-blown laughter of Itachi Uchiha.

Gobsmacked, she doesn't know how to proceed.

But finally, his laughter dies out the same way it had come, gradually and with effort, he manages to look her in the eyes. Clutching at his side as though in pain (and he probably is), he at last manages, "You think I'm seeking _redemption_?"

Sakura's normally bright green eyes darken with fury.

_How dare he!_

"You have no remorse for what you've done?"

Another laugh escapes past finely sculpted lips.

_HOW_

"Grand larceny. Arson. Conspiracy. Stalking. First-degree murder. I can keep going!"

Though he doesn't make a sound, she watches the way his shoulders jump, silently laughing.

_DARE_

"You're part of a terrorist organization that whores itself out to the highest bidder! You have no ties to your homeland! Your family!" Sakura's isn't even aware of the fact that she's now on her feet, stalking up to the glass wall.

But as she moves forward, he moves backward, as though responding in a game of chess. Shaking his head yet refusing to meet her heated glare, he moves back until his hands make contact with something solid and cool. Clasping onto the edge of the sink, he leans his weight back into it, in need of support.

_HE!_

"Your family," she can hear the nearly pleading quality of her voice, begging for his humanity to make an appearance, "They haven't given up on you. You've hurt them so badly. Sasuke – he – "

Clasping his forehead, his fingers fisting into limp strands of hair, Itachi sinks to his knees, his laughter having returned in full force.

Slamming her palm flat against the glass creates a powerful echo throughout the tunnel, rousing some of the other prisoners from their sleep and delusional musings. Yet, it has no effect in catching the attention of whom it was directed toward. Letting her head fall forward until her forehead rests against the glass, Sakura sighs, feeling a great weight settle onto her shoulders.

She should have never been asked to do this.

She should have never agreed to do this.

_Should have, should have…_

It ends here.

_For now._

She may have failed to get anywhere today, but she has been presented with a new side of Itachi that has never been documented before.

Granted, it's a very scary, maniacal side…

Stepping away, she returns to her seat to collect her things and then turns to make her leave, sparing one last look back at the Uchiha huddled on the floor.

She has to do a double take as her brain processes the sight of Itachi perched back on his mattress, just as he was when she first arrived.

A small, knowing smirk graces his lips, as he looks back at her through the veil of his bangs.

A chill sweeps across Sakura's skin all at once as she stares back, utterly floored.

Wrenching her neck to the side so as to break eye contact, she forces her feet to make the journey back to the tunnel's entrance.

Nothing good can come of this.

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><p><span><strong>Author's Note:<strong>** Here we go, readers, another new story idea! This is actually one of the more recent ones I've had and decided to run with. If you've read my other stories, this one clearly deviates from my usual habit of writing super long chapters. I'm trying to limit my chapter length and see if that affects my motivation to write so that in the end, I won't be burnt out and the story will be even longer. We'll see how it goes. Anyway, some of you may have picked up on the similarities in the set-up of the tunnel being like that seen in **_**Silence of the Lambs**_**. I finally got around to seeing it and that's just my little nod to it. **

**On a different note, I am open to suggestions from you all if you'd like to PM me with storyline ideas or characters you'd like to see me work into a story. Obviously, I can't guarantee to write a story for everything suggested (nor how soon it will be done), but who knows what ideas I'll take a fancy to.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:**** Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto.**

**Rated M:**** Due to coarse language, violence, and some adult themes.**

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><p>"Soooo," her best friend starts with little preamble, her eyes large with expectation as she leans over the table toward Sakura, "What was he like?"<p>

Sakura sighs, slumping back into the cushioned patio seat. She knew when her best friend texted her about grabbing lunch together on their work break, that this would be the inevitable price she would have to pay for a free meal. Not the worst arrangement she could imagine, but her time in the tunnel was something she was trying to cram to the back of her mind, at least during the daylight hours when her focus needed to be on her patients.

Irritably, her fingers plunge the straw into her glass of mostly drained iced tea, stirring the ice cubes around as she desperately tries to think of something to say to distract Ino from her current pursuit of conversation.

Knowingly, Ino taps the tip of her perfectly manicured forefinger on the edge of her salad bowl.

"C'mon, Forehead, you didn't think I wasn't going to ask, did you? I mean, what, have the police sworn you to a vow of silence or something?"

And technically, no one had warned her to keep her mouth shut…

But she's pretty sure that was implied.

Perhaps, the police had simply assumed the whole doctor/patient confidentiality stipulation still applied to her. Itachi had been a patient of hers when he was carted into the ER at Konoha General.

_Why did I stay over my shift? Why?_

Lesson learned. She simply cares too much for her own good.

"Of course not. You're a nosy pig," Sakura comments as she pouts in her seat.

Swift as a striking cobra, Ino pierces the last of Sakura's tortellini with her fork, popping it into her mouth with a catty smile, "The very best."

_She's been hanging around Choji for too long. _

"Ugh, alright," Sakura gives in, "But I'm taking the rest of your cucumber."

Without the slightest fuss, thoroughly surprising Sakura and making her suspicious at the same time, Ino amiably scoots her salad forward into easy reaching distance.

Munching on a slice of cucumber and stealing a cherry tomato just to spite her best friend, Sakura pauses, wondering which words she should choose to best describe her encounter with the unbalanced convict.

"It was…disturbing."

Ino leans in, a single eyebrow arched in anticipation, "Aaannndd?"

"I – I don't know," Sakura looks down at her lap, seeing but not truly taking in the bread crumbs that had fallen into the folds of her napkin. Instead, her mind's eye travels back to the tunnel, with its intensely bright lights and desperate madmen clinging to their cages.

"While he was recuperating in the hospital, several attempts were made at psychological testing, not just for the purpose of identifying a treatment, but they'll be used by whatever bloodsucker they can scrounge up to defend his sorry ass in court," Sakura pauses, her memory focusing on the paleness of Itachi's skin under the glow of the lights, how he had to lean against the sink to support himself.

Ino clears her throat, a small sign of indignation at Sakura's unintentional barb.

Frowning, she continues, "The tests were all inconclusive. What he's done, what he's guilty of, you would think only insanity could be to blame. But when talking to him, he's so calm and polite, so calculated…Which would mean everything has been for a premeditated purpose. At least, that's what all the reports up to my visit would seem to indicate."

"Something happened, didn't it?" Ino rests her chin in her hand, her interest piqued to new heights, but Sakura can see the concern in her face.

"He went off," Sakura clasps her hands in her lap, "I hardly got anywhere before he burst into laughter. He _couldn't stop_, Ino."

Ino's sky blue eyes bulge at this information, "Laughing? As in haha-Sakura-actually-made-a-joke laughing, or I'm-a-sociopath laughing?"

"The sociopath kind," Sakura says pointedly, looking into Ino's eyes, knowing that even with this admission, she isn't fully conveying just how unsettling it was to witness.

"But he did something else," Sakura adds, tapping her fingers against her armrest in agitation. It's the one moment from her interaction with Itachi that had been plaguing her with doubt for the last few days.

"Well? Out with it, Forehead!" Ino implores, exasperation clear in her tone.

"He smiled," Sakura says simply.

Tilting her head to the side as though unsure she had heard correctly, Ino regards her troubled friend with a look of incredulity.

"Well," Sakura amends, "Not so much a smile as a smirk. You know that look some of the Uchihas have…" she trails off, but continues at Ino's nod of confirmation. The Uchihas are a notorious family in Konoha, going back for generations all the way to its founding. As such, they had accumulated a great deal of wealth and prestige, essentially staffing the majority of the police department with their own family.

"Well, I set off the insane laughter when I suggested that maybe the reason for his returning to Konoha and turning himself in is that he wants redemption. His health is pretty poor, in fact, I don't think the medicine he's on right now will have any effect at covering the symptoms for much longer," Sakura splays her hands out on the table as though admitting defeat, "I thought he might try to set things right with his family before he dies."

"And he laughed?"

"Uncontrollably so."

"But wait," Ino shakes her head, her waist-length ponytail swaying across the back of her chair, "What'd he smile for?"

"That's just it, I have no clue. One minute, I'm standing to gather my things and leave while he's convulsing on the floor with a fit of the giggles, and the next thing I know, he's sitting back on his bed. Relaxed and composed as though nothing had happened. And he was smiling about it," Sakura finishes flatly, clearly disgusted with the whole matter.

"What do you thi – ?"

But the blonde's question is left unfinished as her cell phone bursts into life to the lyrics of some obnoxious pop song Sakura takes every opportunity to shame Ino for liking.

After a quick back and forth of short sentences sprinkled with a little legal jargon Sakura never cared for, Ino ends the call in a huff.

"Such an incompetent, useless – UGH! Seriously, the unpaid interns could do better!" Ino seethes as she stuffs her phone and planner into her bag, hastily getting to her feet.

_Such a drama queen._

Sakura rolls her eyes good naturedly at her best friend's minor hissy fit, knowing it's more for show than anything. Ino is proud of her work and Sakura knows she takes a lot of pleasure out of doing it.

"Well, this _bloodsucker_ has to go do damage control for some imbecile. Let's do lunch again soon, ok?"

"Yeah, yeah, catch ya later, Ino-Pig," Sakura waves her hand lazily in dismissal.

Petulantly, Ino sticks her tongue out before hurrying out of the restaurant's back patio gate, her hair sashaying behind her.

Sakura had been flabbergasted when after a year of partying and building up her social circle at college, Ino had announced her switch from her major of "undecided" to "law." Now, she's not sure why she never pictured it before. Her best friend has always been a master of manipulation. Persuasiveness and panache are just a part of her physical make-up, as natural on her as a pair of Gucci pumps.

Sakura shakes her head in fondness as she watches Ino navigate her way down the busy sidewalk, weaving in and out of the crush of businessmen hustling back to their offices, and turning a few heads along the way.

Next to her bowl of fresh fruit, her cell phone buzzes as the alarm she always sets goes off, signaling that her lunch break has come to an end much too soon and she has ten minutes to hightail it back to the hospital.

As she wipes the corners of her mouth with her napkin and rises to her feet, a waiter with a tight-lipped smile and distrustful eyes makes sure to stop her at the table.

_Damn it, Ino-Pig! You forgot the check!_

* * *

><p>Five days after Ino artfully left her to pick up the tab, Sakura stands in the kitchen, vigorously stirring a bowl of batter. Today is her day off from work and after waking up at the usual 7:30 a.m., a habit she found nearly impossible to break, she had come to the conclusion that her duty to the hospital meant she had been neglecting her domestic responsibilities for far too long. Sorting through her piles of laundry, vacuuming the living room, and giving the shower stall a thorough scouring, had left her with quite an appetite.<p>

With the windows open and the wind gently blowing the pink curtain over the kitchen sink, Sakura happily hums along to the radio playing in her bedroom. Unlike her mom, Sakura has yet to cultivate any true passion for cooking, but her sweet tooth certainly appreciates the taste of cranberry-orange muffins. Even if they do come from a box.

Just as she is about to divide up the mixture into the muffin pan, her phone blasts the lyrics to "Bad Boys," her chosen I.D. for Kankuro since he had become a regular contact over the last two months. Her intuition warns her not to answer, to just pretend she can't hear it. But her conscience belittles her for being dishonest and cowardly, so, being bullied by herself, Sakura takes one last longing look at her muffin mix before snatching up the phone from the island bar.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Sakura, hope I'm not catching you at a bad time," Kankuro's hesitant voice fills her ear, pausing for a second as though offering a chance for her to say otherwise, but then speeding up as though thinking better of it, "Look, I know this is probably the last thing you want to do, especially on your day off – I called the hospital first – But, would you be willing to come back to the prison today?"

Sakura's fingers clutch the phone tightly against the shell of her ear as she mentally berates herself for answering the phone.

"I…I don't know, Kankuro, I mean, it didn't exactly help at all last time. I didn't get anything out of him. We had all of a three minute conversation before he became completely impossible to talk to," Sakura responds, trying to appeal to him with rationality without sounding whiny.

"He's asking for you. Just you," Kankuro states, as though this information is significant.

"He's just trying to obtain some form of control over the police while he's trapped like a rat in his hole. It's petty and childish, but that's all it is. And worse than that, you and the rest of the police are buying into it. He's not going to offer up any information," Sakura fires back, determined not to go back to the Suna prison, but knowing she'll fold so easily if Kankuro plays his cards right.

"But why would he be fixated on you? For whatever reason, you're the one and only person he claims he'll open up to. You could help our investigation so much!" Kankuro's voice has lost its hesitation, now motivated by his determination to fulfill his obligations as an officer of the law.

And there it is. The "h" world.

_Help._

"I don't know!" Sakura nearly cries out, while she sinks onto a stool, her eyes gazing hungrily at the blue ceramic bowl whose contents are waiting to be baked in the oven, "There are a couple possibilities. Maybe he's mentally latched onto me from his time in the hospital. He was on some pretty strong pain medication which would have left things a bit hazy and confusing for him. Or," Sakura's voice rises for emphasis, "Like I said before: he's yanking your chain! He's not going to tell you anything, but if he baits you with the possibility of it, you might be forced into a position to bargain with him. At the very least, it can delay his trial."

A weary sigh is breathed into her ear, and Sakura can envision the slouched posture of her friend as he sits at his office desk, wracking his brains for some way to solve this whole mess. Her resolve begins to crumble and frustration wells up inside Sakura as her free hand balls up into a fist, trying to grasp onto the last vestiges of her tenacity.

"Would you consider it a favor to me? Please? I just really think something could come of this, but we have to make the effort. Itachi's organization is still at large. If we could even get a description of some of the other members, it would be something. If we could get a lead on their whereabouts or any upcoming activity, it would be huge."

Sakura tilts her head back, staring at the rough texture of her kitchen ceiling and imagining patterns in the off-white paint.

"Alright," she hears her voice say, cringing as she realizes her day off will be more emotionally stressful than a bad day at work.

"Thank you, Sakura," Kankuro says sincerely, "How soon can you make it?"

Glancing down at her pajamas, Sakura stalls for a moment, "Uhh, give me an hour. I was in the process of making muffins," her sentence ends in a grumble.

* * *

><p>An hour and ten minutes later, Sakura is following Kankuro down the same clanky set of metal stairs again, waiting for the sound of the same electronic bell as he enters the security code, and entering through the same door with the same stony-face guard on the other side.<p>

_Does that guy ever get to go home?_

It's funny how she can be so flippant this time around when the first time she had been a jumbled ball of nerves, yearning to cling to Kankuro's cuff just like a little kid clings to her mother's dress when being introduced to a stranger.

Maybe it has something to do with her low expectations of today's outcome. That, and the fact that she's armed with firsthand experience of how unstable Itachi Uchiha can be.

Stalking silently down the tunnel (having chosen a simpler outfit of sandals, jeans, and a light, mint green sweater to dissuade the vulgar attention of the other inmates) with her head held high despite the lecherous catcalls following her wake.

_Shut the hell up!_

She is not one to be messed with today. Her precious muffin mix is going to waste and hardening into a crusty paste inside its bowl as she spends her day off _here_ of all places.

She had forgone her tote bag with its note-taking materials and patient files. Armed with only her car keys for a hasty retreat and an exceptionally foul temper, Sakura cares little for preparation at the moment. It had all been for naught the last time anyway. Without slowing down, she walks into the glaring light cast out into the passageway from Itachi's cell, making an abrupt about face to glower at the man who had forced her to come here.

Her ire spikes as she's met with a peaceful-faced Itachi resting on his back, eyes closed to the world.

"I know it may be hard to believe, but I didn't come here to watch you sleep," Sakura bites out, barely managing to cap her rage.

"No, I'm aware," Itachi replies, unshaken by her anger and fully awake despite his appearance, "It's a pleasure to see you again, Miss Haruno."

He sits up, swinging his legs over the side of his bed and, at last, opens his eyes to directly meet Sakura's.

"You can cut the polite schoolboy act. I know better," Sakura all but spits, every muscle in her body tensed as she stands just on the other side of the glass wall, ignoring the chair that had been set out for her.

"What do you mean exactly?" Itachi asks, his voice truly sounding genuine in its misunderstanding.

But she watches the way his eyes glide over her, analyzing and sizing her up once again. He's anything but slow in the head.

"The _Miss Haruno_ crap," Sakura clarifies, a dangerous edge to her words. Itachi is fortunate to be on the other side of the glass. If she could get her hands on him now, she'd strangle him into unconsciousness.

Itachi's hand pushes the hair back on the left side of his face, exposing an ear. Sakura watches the unconscious motion, such a simple movement, yet it captivates her attention. When viewed from behind, he would probably be mistaken as a woman with hair that long.

"I am merely addressing you the way you asked me to last time," he reminds her. There's nothing about the way he says it that would spark a fight, but the words themselves are fighting words. He has to tell her that it was she who insisted on the formality. Therefore, she's the mistaken one. The fickle one. The stupid one.

And yet he does it all with a gentle, polite tone, one that doesn't sound accustomed to being raised in conversation because people are simply compelled to listen to him when he deigns to open his mouth.

"Well, I am now asking you to call me by my first name," Sakura grits out, trying and failing miserably to adopt his same genial demeanor.

"As you wish, _Sakura_," his voice caresses each syllable with care, and Sakura wonders if she just made a mistake.

Choosing to actively restrain herself, Sakura forces herself to go sit down, though she moves the chair closer to the glass. To sit at such a distance when he is already confined makes her feel like a weak-hearted wimp.

All the while, Itachi's attentive, onyx eyes follow her movements, landing back on her face when she takes her seat, crossing one leg over the other as well as crossing her arms over her chest. A defiant, fierce expression lights up her face as though she is ready for battle. Perhaps for Sakura, that is exactly what it seems like.

"You don't want to be here," Itachi's gentle voice observes softly.

Sakura's head tilts to the side, her face twisting into a scowl, "How very astute of you."

Itachi takes no offense to her sarcasm, but gestures at her body, "You're uncomfortable. Everything about you reads defensive. From your tightly crossed arms across your torso to your crossed legs and apparent habit of biting your lips. Even the fact that you chose to wear your hair down, masking the sides of your face. It all points to your feelings of insecurity and desire to shield yourself. You're trying to protect yourself, though it is obvious I cannot pose any threat to you from in here."

She speculates whether his specification of "from in here" was worded as a concealed threat, or merely a benign, obvious observation. She refrains from disentangling her limbs though it takes a lot of willpower not to. Instead, she makes a mental note to slowly loosen up with time, so that Itachi doesn't assume his words have any effect on her. Still, she does release her lower lip from its frequent place clenched between her teeth. Itachi or no Itachi, she has always had a problem with that.

"So you're a master at body language as well as murder. How nice," Sakura sneers.

"You're not being very professional."

"I'm off the clock."

Itachi makes a _humph_ sound in his throat which is, fortunately, the closest he has come to laughing throughout their conversation.

"And for your information, my hair is this way because I didn't have work today and I prefer it down," she snips, not bothering to ask herself why she's even explaining such an inconsequential personal choice…and to him of all people.

"Ah. I prefer it down as well."

Stunned, Sakura feels a minor amount of warmth rushing to her cheeks, and feels equally repulsed by her reaction.

_Did he just…?_

Mentally shaking her head to dislodge the thought, Sakura clears her throat, trying to assume a more confident and in control attitude as she unfolds her arms and tries to sit a little less rigidly.

"So," Sakura begins, her anger now mostly subdued, "I don't suppose you're much for exposing the secrets of your organization to me or the police, are you?"

"Now that would be telling," Itachi replies, and Sakura swears she can almost detect a note of playfulness in his answer.

"But you did request that the police have me speak to you. Why?" Sakura beseeches, unsure of what she expects the answer to be.

Itachi doesn't answer right away, but instead, gingerly stands on his feet and crosses the distance from one side of his cell to the other. With one shoulder leaning against the glass wall and one foot hooked over the ankle of the other, he loosely crosses his arms with his hands resting on his elbows. Sakura wants to comment on his "defensive" posture, but her desire to hear what he has to say outweighs her animosity toward him for the moment. She can't derail him from whatever it is he's about to divulge, especially when it appears this important.

"You are the only one I could think of to ask," he answers at last.

Scrunching her eyes, Sakura regards him with confusion, "Ask what?"

Another pause.

Sakura catches herself biting her lip again as the tinge of iron assaults her taste buds.

"About my brother."

Sakura's ears pick up on the reluctance in his voice. It was difficult for him to admit that, or at least to voice it out loud to her. But more than that, she is shocked by his confession. He wants to know about his brother…And he thinks she has the answers he wants?

"Sasuke-kun."

It's involuntary, saying his name. But those syllables feel like home on her lips. Even after all these years. After all the hurt.

Itachi waits for her to say more.

But she can't. How can she? Even if she could, why should she say anything to the man Sasuke both hated and obsessed over?

"Your father was allowed to visit you. Once," Sakura says sharply, "It was just a few days after you were moved here. Why didn't you ask him?"

She can tell that Itachi is pressing more of his weight against the wall as the fabric stretching over his shoulder is flattened against the glass.

"I couldn't speak to him."

"So I read in the report," Sakura remarks dryly.

Itachi doesn't respond, reverting to looking down at his feet rather than meeting Sakura's gaze. But this time, Sakura's suspicions are on high alert.

_Is this all an act? But what can he gain from it?_

That's exactly where Sakura runs into a problem. From every angle that she can see, Itachi has nothing to gain from this. Asking about his brother is completely unexpected, but how could it help him get out of jail?

The simple truth is that it can't.

_So why bother? What's his motive?_

Seeing as that he looks prepared to give her the silent treatment until she offers something up, Sakura sighs, wondering what qualifies as safe information to willingly volunteer.

"I can't tell you much about your brother," Sakura starts as Itachi turns to face her straight on, "After high school, he enlisted in the military for a while. I wrote him letters, but he never responded," Sakura curls her hands over the edge of her seat, her nails scraping against the underside of the metal. It still burns deep to admit that, and the memory of bitter tears stinging her eyes each time she checked the mail is still a bit too fresh for her liking.

She leaves unsaid all the years of Sasuke growing up after Itachi had left without a trace. How the family had been torn apart with grief thinking the eldest son had been kidnapped. And when no ransom was ever demanded, they had sunk into absolute hopelessness that the boy would ever be returned to them alive. They mourned, but had no body to bury, no place to gather and cry and share fond memories. Sasuke had still been in elementary school at the time and was completely inconsolable. He had withdrawn into himself and no friends could penetrate the barriers he put up. Eventually, the investigation dropped.

It was some time during the beginning of their high school years that shit hit the fan.

A call had come in to the Konoha Police Department and the secretary to Chief of Police Fugaku Uchiha had answered the phone. The connection was bad and was eventually traced to a landline outside the country. But over the static, the voice was unmistakably that of the missing boy.

And in seven simple words he once again threw his family and the entire community into chaos: This is Itachi Uchiha. I am alive.

For a very brief period, hope was renewed. Sasuke had been different. More responsive. Not exactly happy, but getting there. Sakura prayed he would never fall so low into despair again.

But he did.

Less than two weeks after the call, international news was ablaze with an anonymously submitted video of a gruesome beheading of five important council members of some small nation state Sakura has since forgotten the name of. A private organization had been hired in order to orchestrate a coup. And it was successful.

In ripped clothing, the five men had been lined up next to each other and forced to remain on their knees, black cloth bags pulled over their faces and tied securely around their necks. They had screamed and cried in a language Sakura couldn't understand as one by one, a blade was pulled through their necks. Not that Sakura saw this, no, she had paused the video before the first cut was made. It was too much to bear. Even if she didn't know these people, even if they had committed treacherous acts during their lifetimes, she just couldn't make sense of it.

She couldn't even begin to understand the two men dressed in black, each armed with a short blade, standing on either end of the lined up council members. As though making a game out of it, they had taken turns at working from either end of the procession until they met in the middle at the final council member who surely must have been a quivering mass of grief and fear by that point. It was the shorter male who ended the life of the last councilman, standing behind his victim, he had slit the man's throat, a spray of red nearly reaching the camera – or so this is what Sakura's classmates had told her at the time as she vehemently refused to see it for herself. The video ended after that, the two assassins presumably leaving their last victim to bleed out as his fellow councilmen lay dead around him.

What she could make sense of was a still frame of the event that was repeatedly shown over and over again on the news, receiving even more airtime on the local stations – an image of the shorter male standing like the grim reaper behind his final victim. It was unmistakably Itachi.

He didn't care to conceal his identity anymore. He was letting the world know, and in a very big way, that he was still alive.

The rest of the Uchiha family was rocked by this revelation. Sasuke missed school for a week and when he returned, things were worse than ever before. A few idiots gave him a hard time, calling his family a bunch of terrorists and trying to pick fights. For a while, Sasuke simply walked away from them, too good and too proud to rise to the bait.

But eventually he snapped. A few kids landed themselves in the hospital.

And after that, no one accused Sasuke of being like his brother. Or at least they were smart enough not to do so to his face.

Feeling tears prickle at the corners of her eyes at the memory, Sakura rapidly blinks them away, looking up as though surprised to see herself in Suna's maximum security correctional facility, staring up at the man who had just been plaguing her thoughts.

Coughing away the sudden desire to cry, Sakura continues doggedly, "I know that he's out of the military now and living on his own. Other than that, I can't say. I have no idea what he does for a living and I never see him around Konoha anymore. He used to visit for the holidays, but he stopped coming a couple years ago."

Sakura's teeth worry her lower lip, but she no longer cares if she bleeds.

"I find it difficult to believe that you don't know anything more than that. You loved my foolish little brother," Itachi says, so openly and unexpectedly that Sakura is left with her mouth agape.

"I – I was just a little kid! It was nothing more than a silly crush," she takes a breath to compose herself, "People change. They grow up. I am no exception."

"No."

She's confused by his response, uncertain as to what it means. No, she's right? Or no, she isn't an exception?

"I've hurt my brother," Itachi's voice is low and thoughtful, his palm pressed flat against the glass and she sees the suffering in the way his fingers curl against the surface. Sakura remains silent, knowing her words aren't needed for confirmation.

"I thought he would be fine in Konoha, with our family and his friends – and you," he locks eyes with Sakura, "You were always watching after him. Keeping him and that loudmouth Uzumaki kid from getting into too much trouble…" Itachi trails off, and Sakura watches as his eyes seem to unfocus, as though he's concentrating very hard on whatever puzzle his mind is trying to solve.

"Why did he leave?" he asks at last.

Sakura's saddened eyes darken with the slightest spark of anger, but she's too exhausted by today's conversation and dark walk down memory lane to even consider yelling back.

"Why did you leave?" she asks, shrugging her shoulders, knowing it's a pointless question. As for the answer to his question, she has no more knowledge of that than she does to her own question of where Sasuke is now. Like everyone else, he had barred her out of his life shortly after news had spread of Itachi's part in a terrorist organization. She was no exception.

But once again, Itachi surprises her.

"I left because I had to."

Sakura sits up straight in her chair, uncrossing her legs as she leans forward, "What do you mean by you 'had to'?"

Sighing, Itachi turns his back to her, "That would be telling."

She watches as he trudges back to his bed with all the energy of an eighty-year-old.

_He needs to be in a hospital._

Sakura wants to slap herself at the thought. He certainly deserves some suffering. Why should he have the comfort of dying in a nice, comfortable hospital with attentive nurses after all he's done?

_But he's Sasuke's brother…_

Who Sasuke now hates. Confused and angry with herself for reasons she can't fully sort out here and now, Sakura decides they've both had enough for the day.

Stiffly and with knees crackling and popping in protest, Sakura stands and draws near the glass wall, "I'm leaving now, Uchiha-san…"she hesitates, unsure of the appropriateness of her next words, "And thank you for speaking with me."

Feeling foolish, she hurriedly turns to go, but is stopped in her tracks by Itachi's comment.

"You may call me by my first name as well, Sakura."

Without turning around, Sakura nods and then hurries back the way she came.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Author's Note:<span> ****Yay quick update! That's uncommon for me. Anyway, I had a lot of fun writing the scene with Ino and Sakura; it was just a simple, average scene between two best friends, but it made me happy for some reason. Plus, maybe I'm just weird, but I always thought Ino could make it as a lawyer in the real world. But that could also be a result of seeing **_**Legally Blonde**_** too many times. Who's to say? **

**As to the lovely reviewer that brought to my attention the OVA of Itachi cooking eggs, thank you! I had no idea it existed, but definitely got a chuckle out of it. Also, yes, I do believe Deidara and Sasori will be making an appearance in this story (perhaps with a few other Akatsuki). However, despite my huge soft spot for those two characters, I don't envision them with huge roles in this story, but we'll see. I wanted to do this story because of the (mostly unexplored) relationship I built between Sakura and Itachi in **_**You Give Me Fever**_**. It was ambiguous, but there was a delicate undercurrent of an alliance to it, and so I wanted to create an entirely different story that fleshed that out a little more. **

**Also, in case it's unclear, I'm writing Sakura somewhere around the age of 25, assuming she'd be an overachiever in college and med school and jump right into the work force as a resident doctor.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:**** Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto.**

**Rated M:**** Due to coarse language, violence, and some adult themes.**

* * *

><p>"Where's Naruto when you need him?" Sakura groans in frustration as her hands tug at random cords surrounding her modest home entertainment system, hoping that by sheer will she'll manage to get her movie to play. She hasn't seen nor heard from Naruto in over two weeks since he had unexpectedly invited himself over for a scary movie night. However, she knows the adventurous goofball is traipsing around the world with his mentor, Jiraiya-sama, and is likely somewhere with poor satellite reception.<p>

_As long as their idea of humanitarian aid doesn't involve scoping out all the women they can find…_

Still, she could use a little help with mastering the connections between the Netflix account opened up on her laptop and the blank, flat screen TV staring back at her with little encouragement.

_He used some kind of special cable to connect the two, didn't he?_

It's embarrassing for a skilled doctor like Sakura Haruno to admit she can't figure out such a simple problem that all her guy friends seem to be experts on. Recalling the typical scene found in the commons room of Shikamaru, Choji, Kiba, and Naruto's dorm suite in college, Sakura's memory roves over the packed TV stand of game consoles (most of which she hadn't known existed), the tangled mass of controllers, and the spilled towers of games and movies that always littered the floor.

Ino and Sakura hadn't frequented their place too often after Ino had innocently went to rummage around in Kiba and Naruto's shared mini fridge for a drink, only to find what the boys _claimed _was leftover pizza, but was more like a mass of gray fuzz and mold.

Grimacing at the putrid image of supposed food, Sakura evaluates who out of her contact list would be helpful in this situation.

She's too embarrassed to bother a genius like Shikamaru with such a question.

With it being dinner time, Choji is most likely occupied with matters more aligned with his priority list. Now that she thinks about it, she never did actually see Choji lift a finger to help set up the Mario Kart parties the group often engaged in.

_Too busy digging into the snacks._

Naruto is out…

_Kiba it is then._

Plunging her hand down between the couch cushions where her cell phone most often likes to vacation, Sakura flinches at the sound of someone knocking on her door, hastily backing into the edge of her coffee table. Hissing in pain and maneuvering her way through what little space the furniture in her cramped living room permits, Sakura vows that she'll start looking for a bigger place soon.

Huffing in irritation and halfheartedly smoothing her hair down as she looks through the peephole of her door, Sakura's eyes widen in alarm at the sight of a uniformed officer shifting impatiently from one foot to the other out on her doorstep.

Dread quickly pools into her stomach and all thoughts of heating up her leftover lasagna quickly flee as she unlatches the chain on her door and reluctantly opens it to greet her very unwanted visitor.

"Good evening, Sakura Haruno. I am Officer Shiranui of the Konoha Special Task Force," the man drawls, apparently bored with his current assignment. A toothpick is expertly swished from one side of his mouth to the other.

A glint of recognition flickers in Sakura's eyes. She remembers this man; a few months ago, he had walked into the clinic to have his shoulder checked out. While the nurses were busying themselves with fixing him up and bathing him in praise for being oh-so brave, he had been scheming ways to fix himself up with one (or three) of the nurses.

With disapproval pinching down the corners of her mouth, Sakura replies, "Genma Shiranui, right? I remember you. You came into Konoha General not too long ago."

Lazy, half-lidded eyes focus on Sakura's face and he treats her to a half grin, "Ah, I thought you looked familiar. Not too many doctors with pink hair; it's an odd choice."

Sakura shifts her weight to one leg, placing a hand at her hip in a posture that is all too dangerously familiar to a man like Genma Shiranui.

"It's not so much a choice if it's natural."

Sakura passed the point of polite indulgence on this particular topic long ago.

"Oh?" Genma's face lights up with mild interest.

Ignoring the keenness in his tone, Sakura cuts to the point, "So why is the Konoha police at my door at," Sakura pauses to spare a glance at her watch, "7:08 p.m.?"

Tapping her foot impatiently to help convey the message that she's a very busy woman and she hasn't got all day – and subsequently getting Ursula's song from _The Little Mermaid_ stuck in her head – Sakura straightens her posture and can't help but cross her arms despite Itachi's annoying observations floating through her head.

Genma's hands slide into his pockets as he adopts a more casual stance, "I'm sure you can hazard a guess, Doctor. The Chief has requested you keep up your visits with Itachi Uchiha. He spoke with one of the men at the Suna facility who seems to be convinced that something of use will come of it. We hope to have your full cooperation in this matter."

Sakura doesn't have to ask who it is that Fugaku Uchiha is in contact with from Suna.

_Damn you, Kankuro! Damn you!_

Clenching her jaw, Sakura wonders what the police would do if she _doesn't_ cooperate. Could they force her? She could always hire Ino to defend her –

"So, you are being asked to continue recording any new behavior that shows up as well as immediately report anything of significance he may offer regarding the activities or members of Akatsuki. Think you can do that?"

Sakura forces herself to blink, having become transfixed by the ease with which the man flicks his toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other as he talks.

_How long did it take to learn that?_

Oral fixations aside, Sakura does have a bit of a dilemma. On the one hand, she has absolutely no desire to ever see the Uchiha traitor again. He would go to trial and most likely be sentenced to death, ridding the world of one more psychotic killer. On the other hand, the strings of obligation and honor that tie her to her community are tugging at her heart, pleading with her to concede and complete this task. How much could talking with him really hurt her?

_How much could it hurt him?_ a tiny voice ponders inside her, making her pause as she considers the way Itachi's fingers clawed against the glass at hearing how Sasuke essentially cut everyone out of his life.

Does she even care?

Sighing heavily, a habit she seems to have developed recently, Sakura nods her head in defeat, "Fine. I'll do it."

"Good," Genma responds cheerfully, "We've scheduled you to make your visits every Tuesday at 2:00."

He doesn't ask if this is acceptable and Sakura feels certain in her understanding that this "request" was never really a request at all.

Fighting back the groan rising in her throat, Sakura mentally tries to calculate how she can rearrange her hours at the hospital for however long this little fiasco will carry on. Worse still, she realizes as she flips through her mental calendar that tomorrow is Tuesday.

As if reading her thoughts, Genma smiles, "Of course, the Konoha Police Department wishes to make this as convenient as possible for you. We will gladly assign someone to transport you to and from the Suna facilities so that your own vehicle and such expenses won't be necessary."

"Great," Sakura intones with all the enthusiasm of a patient about to get an injection to the buttocks.

_More like you just want to ensure I go and stay for however long you want me there. Why do I feel like the prisoner in this situation?_

"Well, that will be all, Miss Haruno. Please feel free to contact me with any questions," he hands her a business card which Sakura begrudgingly accepts, "An officer will arrive at 1:30 to pick you up from the hospital tomorrow. Have a good night."

And there's the answer to her unspoken question of whether or not they're going to give her at least a week's reprieve to mentally prepare for these little planned meetings. Likewise, she doesn't bother to question how they've already gotten their hands on her work schedule.

Stepping back into her living room with its light floral scent, but otherwise lack of personal touches, Sakura collapses in an ungraceful sprawl of arms and legs on her couch, glaring at the dark screen of her television. Once again, she'll have to settle for watching her shows on the inadequately sized screen of her laptop.

Feeling the beginnings of a headache leak into her skull, Sakura tilts her head back to rest on the back of the couch.

_Itachi Uchiha has become a major pain in the ass._

* * *

><p>Today, the inmates holler at her just as raucously as before, though she has chosen to wear one of her lab coats over her clothes in the hopes of appearing more professional and confident and less like a sexual object for these depraved men to ogle.<p>

Silently, she takes the seat waiting for her and opens her bag to pull out the clipboard with its fresh, blank documents waiting to be filled in with today's interaction. Clicking her ballpoint pen in a sign of readiness, she finally lifts her face to get a good look at her patient, for she has decided that the best course of action she can take to help her get through this is to assume the same kind of demeanor she would use at the hospital. She will have to separate her personal stake in this with her professional one; Itachi will have to become just like any one of her other patients.

What she knows of him will be strictly confined to his medical history and whatever he decides to tell her in these sessions. As far as she knows – as far as she will allow herself to know – he is a criminal in very poor health. There is no betrayal of Konoha, no memories of seeing him wait outside the elementary school to walk Sasuke home, and as for Sasuke, well, there can be no Sasuke. There is absolutely no connection between the two. None.

Looking into his thickly lashed eyes, she knows it would be so much easier to trick herself into believing that if they didn't look so alike.

_Get ahold of your objectivity, Sakura! You're a professional!_

"Good afternoon, Itachi-san. You have been informed that I am to see you on a weekly basis, is that correct?"

The coolness of her tone sounds so foreign, so out of place, coming from the small woman poised in her seat. Her pink hair is clasped cleanly and tightly in a clip at the back of her head, and her well-toned figure is masked underneath the unrevealing lab coat she has chosen to wear.

Itachi's critical eyes take this in as the gears of his mind tumble over one another to reason out what caused this marked difference in her conduct with him. Already, he can see she's trying to take today's meeting in a much different direction than the previous one. She wants control.

Sakura refuses to be put off by his silence, so she repeats, "Is that correct?"

Itachi shifts ever so slightly on top of his mattress.

"Yes."

In the glare of the light, Sakura can see smears on the glass where Itachi had leaned against it. Most prominent is a single handprint, almost directly in front of where she is seated.

"Good," she says crisply, marking something on one of her forms, "You're still taking your medication?"

"Yes."

"And have there been any signs of improvement or deterioration in your condition?"

Of course, Sakura has never gone into full detail with her patient concerning the extent of his illness for she was never granted permission nor the time to run an echocardiogram which she knows would have been the definitive proof she needed to confirm her diagnosis – or rather her hypothesis of what his diagnosis _should have been_. Stitching the knife wounds, guarding against infection, and replenishing his blood supply were the top priorities the doctors were charged with when the police brought in the infamous Konoha traitor.

Still, even with the mere blood test she was able to run, Sakura's hunch was reassured. Unfortunately, she hadn't had the foresight to check his blood for elevated levels of B-type natriuretic peptide until after Itachi had been deemed stable to discharge for transport to Suna. When she had, the results showed a slight elevation, but her superiors made the final decision on the matter and decided such levels were not significant enough to warrant bringing him back for further testing.

Sakura hadn't argued. Why should she fight for someone like him?

"It's been about the same," Itachi replies easily enough, resting his back against the wall. Sakura's sharp eyes and almost as sharp pen make note of his choice to remain seated throughout their talk.

Not once has he complained of how easily he tires. But the signs are evident in his occasional labored breathing and habit of requiring something to lean against and help support his weight.

Sakura's eyes narrow as his hand unconsciously reaches up to his throat before listlessly falling away, as though catching itself about to make a silly mistake. She remembers he had been admitted into the ER with his clothes badly bloodied and rumpled and a simple necklace composed of a black cord and three, hollowed out, metallic discs.

She wonders if he misses it. Of course, it's difficult to say in his particular case what happened to it. Perhaps it had been transported along with him and any other personal effects to Suna, but more than likely, it had been discarded along with his ruined clothing while the surgeons were sewing him up.

For now, the small medical staff on hand at the Suna facility is under the instruction to administer a weak dosage of morphine, in pill form, to Itachi on a daily basis. It is the minor concession Konoha General had made in response to Sakura's equally minor concern that Itachi may just have something more sinister at work within his body than stab wounds or the threat of bacterial infection.

If the blood test Sakura ran actually did reveal something significant, then Itachi most likely has pulmonary edema.

_ And if that's the case…_

Sakura worries her bottom lip.

_ The possible underlying cause may point to a congenital heart defect._

In which case, Sakura worries that his current medication really isn't the best treatment for him. Something more reliable than morphine should be employed to reduce the pressure building up in his heart and lungs due to the fluid circulating through them. The morphine is merely meant to help with shortness of breath and anxiety – petty complaints compared to what really may be wreaking havoc in Itachi's system.

Sakura pretends to write a few comments down to hide the fact that her internal debate over whether Itachi deserves true, dedicated medical consideration is taking up most of her attention.

"…Good," she replies, much too late to Itachi's answer to actually mean anything.

"You're distracted."

Sakura looks up from her lap where her dismal excuse for notes stares back at her accusingly and mostly blank.

"And I think you're lying," she throws back.

At this, Itachi almost looks miffed, his eyebrows drawing delicately together.

"What do I have to lie about?"

Sakura can't restrain the impulse to roll her eyes, "I can think of a few things. More specifically, I meant about your health. Your lack of energy, difficulty breathing, how quickly you tire and have to sit or lean against something – Surely you've noticed this in yourself."

"Ah," an irritating smirk stretches the Uchiha's lips, "So the concerned doctor makes an appearance. I was curious as to whether or not you would act that way around someone like me. I suppose I'm not surprised."

Sakura scoffs, "I'm a professional and the only interest I have in you is clinical. I won't let my prejudices against you cloud my judgment when it comes to monitoring your health. Trust me," Sakura's lips slide into a slick smile, "I want to ensure you're in full health when the judge slams the gavel on your condemned ass."

Itachi's smirk brightens into a dangerous smile as he leans forward, "You may say that, but we both know you're lying on all counts. No one wants me back in good health," he stands, his bare feet padding softly to meet her seated form behind the glass, "I'm too much of a risk for that."

Sakura frowns at the arrogance in his words…Even if they are true.

"And you will never be able to separate what you know about me from how you behave around me. Self-preservation is ingrained within our basic wiring."

_Can he get any more conceited?_

"And you will always have more than shallow clinical interest in me as long as Sasuke is my brother."

_Apparently he can._

But Sakura fights back the snarl and instead settles for a forced, tight-lipped smile as she breaks eye contact with her patient to scribble furiously for a few seconds on her clipboard. She needs to unsettle him, to show him that she is in control. He's the animal in the tank and she's the scientist that runs the experiment. He can't unnerve her no matter how hard he tries.

"Your brother again," Sakura's bright voice chirps with false cheer, "You like to bring him up, don't you? I wonder why the brother who abandoned his family is so concerned with the other? Guilt, perhaps?"

His face returns to its neutral default expression.

"Stop hoping for such pointless things. It's a waste of energy," his voice nearly raises goose bumps on her skin, so chilly is his intensity.

"Oh," Sakura decides to tone down the antagonism in her voice, but she can't help the words, "I thought you _wanted_ to talk to me about your brother? That's the whole reason I'm here."

"I thought you would know something of value."

Sakura taps the end of her pen angrily against the face of her clipboard, "I know_ plenty_ about Sasuke-kun. I know how he rode his bike everywhere around town thinking he would be the one to find you in the months that followed your disappearance. I know how he stopped playing with all his friends. I know how some of those once-friends retaliated against _him_ after your little publicity stunt," Sakura doesn't know how she keeps her voice so calm and even, but she continues, hoping it will hold, "I know how he left everything and _everyone_ behind, trying to forget about his home."

Throughout all of this, Itachi remains standing tall and impassive, a silent witness to her verbal account.

Sakura folds her hands, steepling her fingers in a manner reminiscent of her mentor though she is unaware of the action.

"What I don't know, is why his brother wants to know about him," Sakura's eyes dart searchingly over his face, and her own expression marginally softens "Do you actually care?"

Itachi's eye lids droop, dense lashes tangling together.

"Simply wishing for something to be true doesn't make it so. I see your sentimentality hasn't waned over the years."

Sakura can't decipher if he just indirectly answered her question or completely evaded it.

"What do you want with Sasuke?"

She leaves no room for skirting around the question; about this, she is adamant. Itachi will either have to outright lie or tell the truth.

_Or, he may just refuse to say anything._

Patiently, she holds his gaze, studying the shadows and reflected glint in his eyes as an artist would her subject in preparation to recapture the image from memory. Those eyes have become so ingrained in her memory that she dreams of them, even swears she catches them looking at her in that typical horror movie moment of glancing up from the sink to the bathroom mirror. Those eyes are so tragically beautiful in their depth that they confuse Sakura; how can a criminal have the captivating eyes of an innocent? It's an idiosyncrasy that one so guilty can look upon the world with such deceptive pureness.

And yet she can't stop looking. Can't stop letting him trick her, or at the very least, inspire hope within her that he may just be worth saving.

_When you think of monsters, you don't think of someone looking like him._

Again, she battles with the dilemma of submitting a request to Tsunade-sama for a different prescription.

"Nothing," is all he offers.

Frustrated, but determined to gather some information of at least minute importance, Sakura slowly bends her head to the side, relieving some of the tension with a quick series of crackles.

Changing tactics to see just how nimbly the Uchiha can think on his feet, Sakura asks, "Ok, what else would you like to know from me?"

Not missing a beat, Itachi answers with a small, casual shrug, "Perhaps it has not crossed your mind that I merely wanted some company that was a little easier on the eyes than the guards."

Sakura can't help the snort that escapes, "You're a joker, Itachi-san."

"That would be the first time someone has said so."

Sakura catches herself almost allowing a genuine smile, however small it might be, settle onto her face.

"You're…an interesting man, Itachi-san," Sakura struggles to find the correct word; she knows there's a better one lurking somewhere in her mental thesaurus, but it's the best she can come up with on the spot.

Itachi lowers his head as though in contemplation of Sakura's statement, weighing its merits based on his own private knowledge. Still, he doesn't offer his own opinion, so Sakura continues, "How were you able to make your way into the Akatsuki at such a young age?"

It's a thought that has been pivoting around in the back of her mind for years, certainly not the most imperative question she could ask, but it deserves some consideration. He had only been a high school student at the time he left, an age that had found Sakura in the awkward transitional stage of giving up her fluffy pink bedroom décor and Saturday morning cartoons in exchange for co-ed parties and make-up. Even now, Sakura questions if her own mental maturity is a match for what the Uchiha's must have been back then, nevermind what it is now.

"As you claim, I must have some qualities of interest to attract an organization such as Akatsuki. In truth, they were not difficult to find," Itachi smirks, "I didn't even have to look."

Sakura can feel her jaw slowly dropping, and quickly shuts her mouth only to open it again, "_They_ sought _you_ out?"

Itachi makes a low humming noise in affirmation, not bothering to speak on something so obvious.

"But – How?" Sakura hurriedly writes the information down, "How could they possibly know about you? You were just a kid at the time. What could you have possibly done to pique the interest of a group like that?"

"Sometimes it's not a matter of what you do, but who you know," Itachi states succinctly, though his answer leaves Sakura feeling anything but satisfied.

Worse still, even her imagination is drawing a blank on who could possibly be the one to introduce Itachi into a terrorist organization.

_Who would do that to a kid?_

And better yet, why would Itachi be interested?

Before Sakura can properly formulate a list of questions, the echo of footsteps and mild curses of inmates further up the tunnel catch her ear. Kankuro, with a grin on his face, strides down the passageway, ignoring the trash talk following him with practiced grace.

"You sure look happy for a guy guilty of making me be here," Sakura forces as much ill contempt into her tone as she can manage, though the smile crinkling her eyes ruins the effort.

"Ha," Kankuro scratches the back of his head bashfully, "Yeah, yeah, I know you're sour with me. Consider this your civic duty."

Sakura glares up at him, fingers drumming rapidly against her clipboard, clearly unimpressed.

"Ok, I know it sucks, but at least you're getting away from cases of the sniffles and sprained ankles, right?"

"I like my job, thank you," Sakura scoffs.

"Ugh, women," Kankuro groans, throwing his hands up to the ceiling as though asking for mercy, "You're almost as bad as Temari. Look, forgive me for my prior transgressions, but I've come to relieve you of your misery," he bows as though a butler, his arms swooping in the direction back to the entrance, bidding Sakura to take her leave.

"Well, why didn't you say so sooner?" Sakura quips, taking her time to neatly gather her things and pack them away into her bag.

Itachi remains a passive observer to their little scene, but Sakura feels as though she can't just snub his existence by leaving without some kind of parting word.

"I'll be back same time next week, Itachi-san," Sakura swings her bag over her shoulder.

"I look forward to it."

Dark eyes trail after the Suna officer and the pink-haired doctor at his side, her head bobbing enthusiastically as they converse.

"She hasn't changed at all…"

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><p><span><strong>Author's Note:<strong>** I don't have too much to say or give away as to what you can expect in upcoming chapters. I will say that I've already written the ending (as I have a habit of doing), so it's just a matter of navigating all the little plot twists to get there, most of which I haven't even thought of yet. Oh, the potential…**

**I still haven't decided if I prefer writing short little chunks like this compared to the behemoth-sized chapters in **_**You Give Me Fever**_** that ranged anywhere from 14,000 to 24,000 words. Anyway, if you have the time, reviews always give me a smile. Let me know what you like, don't like, want to see happen, or any random thoughts you have floating around in your head. **

**Thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:**** Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto.**

**Rated M:**** Due to coarse language, violence, and some adult themes.**

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><p>"You look exhausted," Itachi's mellow voice observes.<p>

"Your perceptive prowess astounds me yet again," Sakura remarks sarcastically, eyeing his hunched over figure, "You look a little worse for wear yourself."

It's true, and not merely a tactic to divert attention away from her own ragged state of appearance. For whatever reason, her peculiar patient has opted for one of the corners near the front of his cell, his temple pressed against the glass and looking for all intents and purposes to be on the verge of sleep.

_And still he has glossier hair than me!_

Rubbing her burning, sleep-deprived eyes, Sakura doesn't bother to stifle her yawn. Manners are for the well-rested. Idly, she toys with the idea of asking Baki to send someone for coffee, despite having already downed two cups today.

"Are you feeling any worse?"

"No, but I didn't get much rest last night. Someone up front was being…disruptive."

A wry smile works its way onto Sakura's face. However, it is a part of Itachi's prison life that she hasn't considered. Her thoughts trail back to several years ago when Kiba had whined about Naruto's obnoxious snoring problem; though she supposes whatever disruption Itachi is referring to was probably a bit more alarming and maniacal in nature.

_Still, I wonder what the Uchiha thinks about having to deal with bunkmates._

Privately, she snickers at the thought.

"Why are you so tired?"

His question catches her off guard, and though her ears are alert for insincerity or ulterior motives, she catches none.

"Ah, just work," she waves it off dismissively, though in truth, yesterday had been one of her bad days. She had had to break the news to a little girl's parents that their child has cancer. Clinging to her husband, the mother could only repeat that there was no way that could be – her baby was turning ten years old at the end of the month.

As if age has anything to do with something as malicious as cancer. As if it should have the reasoning capacity to discern between who it attacks based on how many candles they've blown out.

Sakura could only discuss treatment options to help prepare the family for what is to come, not that anything can truly prepare anyone, especially the little girl in this case, for something like what she is about to face.

She had stayed up most of the night fretting over that little girl. She'd be spending her birthday in the children's wing of Konoha General.

_How I loathe Mondays._

To make matters worse, these weekly meetings have required Sakura to upset her routine schedule at the hospital, and in order to resolve the problem, she has taken to starting her Tuesdays two hours earlier than usual in order to make up for the time missed while she plays therapist in Suna. She wants to be angry with Itachi for interfering in her professional life, but really, it's just as much (if not more so) the fault of the police for placing this burden on her shoulders.

_Maybe Tuesdays are the new Mondays?_

Itachi, forced to angle his head back in order to meet her gaze from his seated position on the floor, does not refute her skimpy answer though the straight line of his mouth dips in a slight frown. As she studies his appearance for further signs of physical distress, she notes that the tear troughs lining his face seem to be more pronounced than usual. The fact that he's sitting on the floor with his knees pulled into his chest and – once again – leaning into the glass, has the doctor within her worried.

She doesn't know what prompts her to say it, but she does, "See, there's this little girl that I diagnosed with cancer yesterday. She's only nine."

Sakura swallows, wondering if Itachi is even paying attention to something like this that has nothing to do with him.

"She has a chance at making it, statistically speaking," Sakura looks down at her hands gripping the top edge of the clipboard and curses the way her voice wobbles, "But, I – I don't think…"

She doesn't say it. She can't. Because if the doctor admits it, how in the world can that little girl and her parents cling to the hope that she can fight it? She can't take that away from them because it might end up being all they have.

She's the doctor. She has to fight for her patient.

Dully, so weakly that it barely registers over the background noise in her head, something points out that Itachi is her patient too.

She needs to speak with Tsunade-sama as soon as she returns to the hospital.

As for Itachi, she isn't sure what she expects from him, save perhaps a reprimand for being so pathetically emotional over a patient she doesn't even really know. Maybe she expects nothing. Abstaining from talking is certainly in accord with his usual behavior, though he has proven to be chattier with her in particular. But whatever she expects, it isn't what he offers.

He nods with the faintest of motions, and Sakura is unsure if it is meant to signify he heard her, or if he's merely conferring with himself on some inward conversation.

But when he does speak to her, Sakura holds her breath.

"However much time she has left, she'll cherish it more than you or I will cherish that same parcel of time. For many of us, we never get to see the expiration date placed on our own time and we either accept that it will be left as the last great mystery, or we steadfastly ignore its inevitability. However meager her time has been, she'll have the awareness to find value in it," Itachi shifts uncomfortably, turning his head away to once again press it against the glass wall, "She'll find peace."

The conflicting mix of frustration and anger that has been building up within her since late last night begins to recede like the ebbing of the tide as she silently accepts his statement for all its validity. And with it, she almost feels a slight weight being lifted from her back. It's funny that a man responsible for extinguishing so many lives should be able to reflect on such a topic so wisely.

Or maybe it's not funny at all, maybe it makes perfect sense.

"Thank you," she says shyly, a bit self-conscious that he's the one acting more like a therapist.

It's the kind of discussion she has wanted to have several times when such cases land in her lap, cases that can obviously only end in a tear-jerking conclusion for all involved. And though she holds it together while at work, compartmentalization can only last for so long before walls come crumbling down and she has a good cry in the privacy of her own home. On more than one occasion has she stopped and shuffled her feet undecidedly in front of Tsunade's office door, mentally debating the pros and cons of confiding in the woman she looks up to and who has given her such a leg up in the medical world.

So, to preserve her image and reputability, Sakura would turn tail without knocking on the door. And perhaps it has been for the best as she knows her mentor copes with a drink here and there which is not really the best course of action. She has considered confiding in Ino or her parents, but they would just try to do what they could to get her mind off things and make her happy again as soon as possible, which is nice, but not what she wants.

Sakura wants to hear someone else's view of her failure. And maybe, _just maybe_, she can be convinced that it's not always within her power – or anyone's for that matter – to save every sick and broken soul she comes across. And maybe, with time, she can learn to live with the fact that in a profession that promotes health and well-being and _life_, death shadows everything that can be accomplished.

But the point of it all is to try. To fight.

Now as she watches Itachi, her fingers clench tightly around the page she scribbled on over the weekend when the Chief of Police decided to pester her with yet another phone call. He had requested that Sakura ask several specific questions during her next visit and just scanning down the list, she knows not a single one of them will have an easy answer. She doesn't want to ask them, not when Itachi has been this easy-going and not when he looks so utterly exhausted…

_Sick, even…_

She sighs, guilt settling into the place where moments ago, Itachi's honest reply had lifted a growing weight. She knows neither of them are feeling up to an exhausting round of Q and A.

"Itachi-san, I truly am sorry for this, but the Chief of Police," she is apprehensive of acknowledging that it's his own father, "Has requested I ask you a few specific questions that are of interest to the police investigation."

He nods once, not bothering to ask why Sakura feels the need to apologize. Still, his gaze remains down at the floor, though his eyes may very well be closed. Sakura only has the view of his profile which is mostly obscured by his hair as she drags her chair closer to his corner of the cell.

She wishes the Suna police would stop placing it front and center, and yet so unnecessarily far from the glass wall. It makes everything feel so staged and ridiculous. Not to mention, she's not some child at the zoo that needs to be reminded not to tap the glass lest she distress the animals.

Nodding to herself, determined to plough through this as painlessly as possible, Sakura starts at the top of the list, "What were your duties in the Akatsuki?"

Personally, she found this question to be stupid when Fugaku had first dictated it. Of course the police and many of those who are savvy on international news, or those who have spare change to buy a newspaper, are aware of what crimes Itachi and his group are responsible for. Perhaps, this question simply made its way onto the list in order to obtain an early admission from Itachi that he's guilty and knows it.

_Still, it's very pointless._

"To do whatever was asked of me."

Stunned by his willingness to answer, but more so by its implied submissiveness, Sakura records his response. If the Akatsuki could manipulate a man like Itachi, who else could they have working for them?

_Truly, a frightening thought._

"Where is the Akatsuki stationed?"

Itachi tilts his head back and at last Sakura is given an unobstructed view of his face as he turns slightly to look at her with sleep-heavy eyes. She has little hope of a clear, satisfying answer to this question, and her prediction is proven correct.

"That I can't say even if I was inclined to. I've traveled extensively for Akatsuki and it is not the kind of organization to regularly hold meetings so everyone can be in the same place at once. It would be too risky."

Sakura nods as she writes, knowing that the Chief will be less than impressed with the answers she's coaxing from his son.

"How many of you are there?" Sakura feels the familiar twinge of pain as she bites too deeply into her lip. This particular matter is something she is interested in as well.

_To know just how many monsters might be hiding out there amongst the regular population...Waiting. Plotting._

"Again," Itachi sighs tiredly, pushing his bangs out of his eyes, "I do not have accurate information on that. It also depends on what you define as a member of Akatsuki. Those who work from _within _it, or those who work _for_ it? Or are both parties equally liable for the actions of the group?"

"Wha – ?" Sakura begins to ask for clarification, but Itachi surprisingly cuts her off, making Sakura wonder just how tired he really is.

"At its heart is a small, core group of individuals responsible for the most significant and sensitive of tasks. I was among them, but did not rely on my own network of subordinates unlike some of my other…colleagues," he settles on a term after a moment's consideration.

Keen eyes rove over his face, noting the light sheen of sweat on his forehead and the shadows under his eyes. She needs to wrap this up. Glancing down at her chicken scratch that had become remarkably worse through med school, Sakura counts three more questions in need of answers before she can leave Itachi to his poor excuse of a bed and get back to her own place at the hospital for a quick nap in her office.

_And then four more hours of work._

Inhaling deeply through her nose to restore tranquility and patience, Sakura asks, "Who is in charge of the organization?"

Now, she can plainly see and hear the effort with which he breathes. But before she can ask if he'd like to stop, Itachi replies, "That, I will not answer. Even if what I know is his true name, I respect the man's intentions too much to give it away. During our brief meetings, members typically addressed him simply as 'Leader-sama.'"

Sakura, now confused as to what ideals this leader holds that would move Itachi to such a strong conviction of loyalty, eyes the last two questions skeptically. These are the questions that Sakura views as more self-indulgent for the Chief's own peace of mind rather than necessary in tracking down the Akatsuki members still at large. And while Itachi has been cooperative in playing along with this flimsy excuse for an interrogation, his answers haven't exactly provided too much insight into the inner workings of Akatsuki. Surely, he'll be even more ambiguous in his responses to these questions that are more personally aimed at him.

"Why did you join the Akatsuki, Itachi-san?" Sakura keeps her voice low and gentle, hoping to incite cooperation.

For a few seconds, only the labored breathing of her patient meets her ears, but after a light cough to clear his throat, he states, "We do what we think we must," his gaze shifts away from her once more, "I had my reasons and I'm not going to justify them."

_Well, that's about what I was expecting._

It's funny how his personality has become so familiar to her, but perhaps it is predictable because, in many ways, he reminds her so much of his little brother. Again, almost subconsciously, his hand rises to his collar bone where his necklace once rested.

Sadly, she looks down at the last question, running her tongue over her worn bottom lip. Conflicting emotions churn within her, but she forces her doubts away and decides to act.

"Ok, just one last question," she pauses, hoping that statement will invigorate him at the thought of this almost being over, but also weary of the consequences of asking him the last item on her checklist, "Did you murder Shisui Uchiha?"

At this, Itachi's head snaps to the side so abruptly, Sakura nearly chokes on her own spit. Turning his body to follow suit and sitting cross-legged with arms stretched out behind him to lean back on, something cold and deadly swirls in his eyes, and Sakura, for the first time, wishes the glass wall is just a little thicker. And has steel bars.

Eyes wide and muscles tensed, Sakura waits, the pen in her hand imperceptibly shaking.

"No."

Though it's just one, seemingly harmless word, it's packed with paragraphs worth of resentment and Sakura does her best to verbally back pedal away from this dangerous fury that has apparently been lying dormant within Itachi for some time.

"O-Ok, that's all I – the police needed to know. I – I think we're done for today. Thank you for your cooperation," Sakura babbles with false enthusiasm, quickly rising from her chair and gathering her notes into her arms without properly putting them away in her bag. Something like a warning bell goes off within her – old instincts, perhaps – and she knows criminals that have done the sort of things Itachi is guilty of are prone to volatile outbursts.

_Let the guards deal with him now. I'm not getting paid enough for this._

She isn't getting paid at all.

"_Sakura_."

Pink hair swings across her vision as her head jerks up from her fumbling, hasty attempt at collapsing her chair to politely bring back to Baki.

Itachi, now on his feet with a stern glint in his eyes towers over her partly bent form, and something in Sakura regrets moving this close to his cell despite the wall between them.

"Please, thank my father for his stimulating questions," she doesn't miss the derisiveness in his tone, "But next time, ask that he delivers them instead of a little, pink-haired girl drowning in a lab coat."

The rise and fall of Itachi's own chest is matched by that of Sakura as self-righteous indignation swells within her, demanding to be set loose on the bastard that dares to even hint she's too young and incompetent to get the job done. But just as she imagines unsheathing her claws like a ferocious lioness, Itachi falls forward, managing to catch himself as one arm shoots out, palm slapping against the glass and sliding down with the weight of his body.

"Itachi!"

All anger evaporates away as Sakura drops her notes and places her own hands against the glass.

But Itachi is unable to answer, between coughing and gasping for breath, there is little time for talking. Adrenaline courses through Sakura as Itachi sinks to his knees, one hand pressed uselessly to the middle of his chest. The time to act on behalf of her unwanted patient is now. She can no longer wait until she's back in Konoha.

"Baki!" Sakura dashes out into the middle of the passageway, waving her arms for attention despite the unobstructed view between them, "I need an ambulance ASAP! Itachi Uchiha needs urgent medical attention."

Perhaps it's the genuine panic in her voice that doesn't cause him to question her, or perhaps because Itachi is too important of a source to lose so suddenly, but for whatever reason, Baki doesn't hesitate to pick up the phone at his station and two guards are almost immediately dashing through the entrance to the tunnel, making a straight line for Sakura who hurries back to the glass wall, looking desperately in at her patient.

"We're taking you to the hospital now, Uchiha-san. Just hold on!"

She doesn't know if he's listening to her. Leaning forward on both hands, he works to rid himself of the substance choking him. A mixture of saliva and mucous is coughed up, and Sakura only feels a minor surge of relief as the first two guards, followed soon after by three more, hustle into the Uchiha's cell, bringing him none too gently to his feet as they restrain his hands and fetter his legs, restricting Itachi's movement to small, slow steps.

However, the Uchiha appears to be in no condition to make an escape as he continues to wheeze and struggle for air. Just as Sakura begins to think there's no way they can expect Itachi to walk out of the tunnel, much less up the flight of steps to ground level, Itachi's legs give out beneath him and it takes two guards to keep him from crashing to the ground entirely. Dazed and unresponsive to the taunts and shrieks of the inmates rattling the bars of their cells, Itachi's dark eyes struggle to stay focused and Sakura sighs with relief as a team of paramedics are allowed through the tunnel's entrance, a gurney being wheeled between them.

_You're not going to die on us yet. You have too much to answer for._

* * *

><p>Shisui Uchiha, or rather his remains, had been found some time after Itachi's desertion although Shisui himself had gone missing weeks before. For a time, it had been thought the two incidents were related; both boys had been kidnapped by someone looking to get a huge pay day for their safe return. However, this idea was dropped about midway through the months spent scouring all of Konoha and the surrounding cities for Fugaku Uchiha's eldest son. While scouting around the river banks along one of Konoha's borders, police had found an arm and later a shoe-clad foot that was eventually identified as that of Shisui. Nothing more was ever found despite the efforts of the search and rescue team dredging the river bottom. Nature had taken away what was left of him.<p>

While Shisui's parents were finally given some closure on the matter, Itachi's were not.

Even now, Sakura remembers seeing Mikoto Uchiha at the supermarket, looking as though she wasn't even aware of where she was as she stared sightlessly at the produce displays.

After months and eventually a few years had passed, the family could not pronounce Itachi as dead. And they wouldn't have to.

The phone call he made to the police department and the subsequent leak that should have never happened got people talking. The kind of people who liked drama, who craved gossip, and who adored the misfortune of others. And if such people were to ever aim such ill intent toward a family, a powerful one such as the Uchiha was a tempting prospect. Rumors went around Konoha that Itachi had murdered his cousin, reasons for why were never given. But wasn't it suspicious that the boy went missing and shortly after, Itachi disappeared himself? Perhaps, the guilt was too great for him to bear? He did, after all, chop his best friend and cousin into little pieces to feed the fishies.

Even as a kid, Sakura hadn't been fooled into believing the stupid gossip. That would mean Sasuke's brother was insane and no one associated with Sasuke could be bad, right?

Still, as Itachi's name gained infamy around the world, fuel was only added to the Shisui murder mystery. Either Itachi had killed him or their disappearances had been oddly timed, yet separate incidents.

Sakura pours herself a cup of water from the plastic pitcher on Itachi's bedside table. He had been given something to help him sleep upon Sakura's insistence and now she waits for him to finally stir. Yesterday's scare at the prison had prompted Sakura to have a talk with Tsunade about upping her patient's treatment, although, technically, his medical care is now in the hands of Suna's medical staff.

Having taken the rest of the day off yesterday, Sakura had been left to ponder her conversation with Itachi and review her messy notes, trying to jam a mental puzzle piece into a place it just didn't fit. She had had to make a call to Ino, leaving her wallet feeling rather empty inside today after a round of coffee and pastries at some swanky, overpriced café. But now, innocently opened up to a particular page on Itachi's night stand is the result of her efforts: an old Konoha High School yearbook.

As junior high students, just dipping their toes into the realm of boys and catty gossip, Ino and Sakura had turned to yearbooks in search of cute classmates to pine over after exhausting their resources of magazines and celebrity crushes. At the time, Ino had somehow come into possession of her older cousin's yearbook from when she was in high school. Sakura had never met Shisui in real life, but she knew the name and certainly recognized the face as one belonging to the Uchiha family. Ino had thought him handsome, but their gushing was subdued due to the then current gossip concerning his murder and Itachi's disappearance.

Now, Sakura glances over at the glossy page of the yearbook; the photos aren't even in color as that hadn't become common practice until she had become a high school student. The boy's face is strong in structure, with a well-defined jaw line and straight nose, yet the paleness inherent to all Uchihas gives him an almost delicate appearance. His eyes are just as beautifully shaped and dark as Ita –

_What the hell am I thinking?_

Looking over at her patient, Sakura twists her mouth in contemplation.

_I mean, I can admit he's handsome, right? Purely from an observational, aesthetic viewpoint._

She looks out the window behind her, sun beating warmly on her face as it nears early afternoon.

_Come on, I'm not waiting around all day for you to get your beauty rest. I didn't take the day off for nothing!_

One thought has been turning over and over on itself as it tumbles along the gears in Sakura's mind, begging to be resolved: How did Itachi already know of his cousin's murder?

There had been no confusion over Sakura's question, no pause or shock over using the word "murder." He had known.

Yet, if Itachi told Sakura the truth and he didn't kill Shisui, how did he know he was dead, much less that he had been killed? When Itachi disappeared, or rather, left, an investigation was still underway as to what had happened to his missing cousin. The police hadn't known they would be looking for a body; as far as anyone knew, it was a kidnapping or, less likely, a runaway case.

_But Itachi already knew._

Of course, there are multiple ways he could have eventually got his hands on that information. An online obituary, perhaps. Word of mouth.

_Or_, Sakura cringes at the thought, _maybe he liked to visit the Konoha cemetery while he wasn't off doing terrorist things. _

Still, it seems unlikely.

Could he have possibly known his cousin was dead before he left Konoha?

Sakura shakes her head, perplexed.

_Enough waiting around._

Walking quietly to the side of his bed, noting the handcuffs chaining him to the guardrail, Sakura bends down slightly, softening her voice so as not to startle him, "Time to wake up, Itachi-san."

The cacophony of machinery near Itachi's headboard bursts into a frenzy of beeping as his heart rate picks up and Sakura finds herself being pulled down face-to-face with the Uchiha as his hand clamps around her throat.

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><p><span><strong>Author's Note:<strong>** So, this chapter should have answered one reviewer's question concerning Shisui. Sadly, yes, the poor guy is killed in my story as well as the original storyline. Dude can't catch a break. But, no, the Uchiha massacre did not occur. **

**I'm excited to get to a few scenes I have planned out in the future involving other Akatsuki. Deidara and Sasori will definitely be making an appearance, but other than that, the others will more than likely just be mentioned in passing unless I'm inspired to give them bigger roles.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:**** Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto.**

**Rated M:**** Due to coarse language, violence, and some adult themes.**

* * *

><p><em>Who the hell did his restraints?! Too much slack!<em>

"It – Ita – Itachi-san! Let – " but Sakura's already muted voice is unable to force out a syllable more as the clamp-like grip on her windpipe squeezes to nearly unbearable pressure.

_I can't believe it. He's actually going to kill me._

Perhaps, if her mind wasn't in such a chaotic frenzy, she would ask herself why it seems so logical that a terrorist wouldn't think of laying a menacing hand on her, but between digging her nails into the backs of his hands and kicking at the metal bedframe for no other purpose than to alert someone to her situation, Sakura is unable to rationalize much.

Though her rapidly depleting oxygen supply would beg to differ, it only takes a matter of eight or ten seconds before the security guard positioned outside the door comes barreling in and quickly disentangles Itachi's hold on her throat, shouting short orders at Sakura to back away.

A nurse, shorter than Sakura though at least twice her age, comes scurrying in with wide eyes magnified behind thick, tortoiseshell-framed glasses and a needle poised and ready in her small hand.

"W-Wait," Sakura barely manages to force the sound from her mouth, wincing at the rough feel of grit and gravel grinding against the inner walls of her abused trachea. Lightly massaging her throat to relieve the sensation, she raises her other hand in a sign to stop.

She can't have him sedated. Not when she has something this important to ask him.

The nurse looks impatiently between her and the guard who has taken it upon himself to fix the amount of freedom given to Itachi's arms, clearly seeking some sort of immediate instruction. She hadn't run like a mad woman for nothing.

For his part, Itachi lies back against his pillows, compliant and lax and sickly pale. His eyes, dark and frustratingly unreadable as per usual, hold Sakura's. It is this levelness that prompts her forward.

"That won't be necessary," she indicates with a slight incline of the chin toward the nurse's hand still clutching the minor tranquilizer.

The nurse, clearly ruffled that a girl looking barely old enough to buy her own alcohol (with _pink_ hair no less), has the audacity and superiority complex to dole out medical decisions for a patient so unpredictable and precarious, opens her frowning mouth in protest, but the guard quickly intervenes on Sakura's behalf.

"Dr. Haruno has been tasked with keeping up on Itachi Uchiha's condition and evaluating any changes that may come up," his eyes slide over to Sakura's poker face, the clear omission of her encouraged interrogation of said Uchiha hanging between them, "She is qualified and should be made aware of anything that may occur regarding the…patient."

Sakura exhales through her nose loudly, nodding her head once in appreciation toward the guard. Already, she has sensed the faint traces of hostility and watchfulness of the nurses staffing the Suna hospital Itachi had swiftly been carted off to. Whether it has to do her with her young age or some misplaced competitiveness between the hospitals of Konoha and Suna, she couldn't say.

"I'm to blame; I woke him up too roughly and it startled him," Sakura supplies to the still unconvinced nurse, hoping Itachi's male pride will stay silent on the matter of him being scared awake by a petite, pink-haired woman.

To her relief, he doesn't argue the finer points of her excuse and instead adds his own apology for the waiting ears of the nurse and guard hovering at his bedside.

"My apologies, Sakura. I was not fully aware of what was going on."

To his credit, Sakura has to admit the Uchiha looks sincerely abashed as he lowers his gaze.

"It's fine," Sakura directs her attention to the guard, "If you're alright with it, I would like to discuss a few matters with Itachi-san in private."

With a nod of admission from the guard and his subtle, yet firm herding of the nurse out of the room, Sakura is left with her charge who stares back at her, blank-faced and waiting.

_What a lot of fuss for nothing. Ugh, I'm starting to sound like Shikamaru._

"Care to indulge me on what that was for?" Sakura's voice lowers to a near hiss, as she nears Itachi's side, taking up the seat next to his nightstand.

"Only if you see fit in telling me why you're lounging around in my hospital room watching me sleep," Itachi replies without missing a beat.

Pink warmth tinges Sakura's cheeks as she huffs indignantly and swipes the plastic cup off the nightstand to take a drink of water, if only to prolong her answer and cause Itachi some degree of annoyance. Of course, she knows men like Itachi don't give into such lower levels of petty emotion like irritation. She'd have to do better than that.

"Alright, but you first," Sakura concedes, crossing and then uncrossing her arms in favor of folding her hands atop her lap.

Itachi's eyes track the movement and she wonders how he can constantly maintain such a level of alertness throughout every waking moment. It has to be exhausting. At this thought, their eyes connect and Itachi admits, "It's as you said. You woke me too roughly and I was surprised by it. I was not fully awake when I reacted."

_And by 'reacted,' you mean put me in a lethal choke-hold._

"I hardly think leaning down to gently whisper that you needed to wake up would be considered as too rough," Sakura arches an eyebrow, partly in amusement.

However, Itachi does not rise to the bait, as she knew he wouldn't, "I am sorry if I hurt you."

Sakura restrains the impulse to touch her throat. More than likely, she'd have some questionable bruises blooming through her skin to remind her of this little escapade.

Itachi's eyes land on the opened pages of the Konoha year book and Sakura wonders if this is the first time he's noticed its presence. She doubts it.

Looking from the old, glossy pages and back to Sakura, Itachi attempts to maneuver himself to a more comfortable, upright position. Sakura doesn't miss the resistance of the straps pulling back against Itachi's efforts. She almost feels a twinge of pity. Almost.

"Care to explain what business you have with me today, Sakura?"

"Of course," Sakura stands, her heels quietly tapping across the tile as she leaves Itachi's bedside to retrieve his water from atop the modest-sized dresser across the room. She hadn't missed the way his eyes lingered on her own cup, or the way he ran his tongue over chapped lips.

Extending her arm down, she holds out the cup for Itachi to grasp the straw between his lips, not a moment's hesitation or reluctance on his part.

_Either he's not bothered by his current situation or he's got a lot of survivor's instinct._

Sakura suspects it's a great deal of both.

"I'm a rather curious person by nature," Sakura begins conversationally, taking her seat once Itachi has had his fill, "And while I had no part in formulating the questions I was instructed to ask you during our last meeting, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't interested in what you had to say."

Sakura watches carefully for any sign of recognition in his features, any shift toward the rage that burned quietly at the close of their last interview.

His eyes merely reflect her own image.

"And let's be frank," she continues, propping an elbow on her armrest and leaning her chin over to rest in her palm, "The police aren't going to be too impressed with your answers. You're sly, Itachi-san," Sakura's eyes narrow, "You're compliant and cooperative. The ideal criminal in custody, some might say. But you hold onto the important information. You're not going to confess to me, or probably to anyone for that matter, all the little secrets of your organization. You supplied just enough information to count as answering."

"While I appreciate the flattery, I assume you're getting to the point?" Itachi edges, though his expression remains as passive as ever.

"Yes," Sakura can't deny the tiny amount of triumph she feels in revealing it, "Because despite your best efforts, you unintentionally told me something important. Something I'm not even sure the police would have picked up on right away."

She waits, for what exactly, she can't say. Perhaps she half expects Itachi to launch out of his bed and strangle her into silence forever.

But not a single muscle moves or twitches out of place. The calm rise and fall of his chest is the only response Sakura has provoked from her patient.

"I asked you if you had a hand in murdering your cousin, Shisui. You said no," Sakura speaks clearly and slowly, watching his face intently.

The faintest of twitches moves the corner of his mouth, but he offers no retort.

Persistent in her efforts to get some sort of admission out of the stubbornly passive Uchiha, Sakura continues, "You weren't shocked by hearing of his murder, yet you left Konoha before Shisui was found. So I think, either you _did_ have something to do with it, or despite your mercenary-for-hire tendencies, you continued keeping tabs on your family. _Or_," Sakura's lips pull into a self-satisfied smirk, "You already knew he had been murdered before you even left. _That's_ what I'm placing my bet on."

Leaning back in her chair now that her great sleuthing skills have been demonstrated, Sakura can't help but feel something is off in the way Itachi sits so quietly, so rigidly.

"So the doctor thinks herself a detective now? You're clever, Sakura, I'll give you that. But I think you're so in over your head you don't even realize you're drowning."

It's more than she was expecting from him. And the frostiness in his tone…

_Bbbrrrr, someone needs to turn up the thermostat._

"What are you saying, Itachi-san? Are you threatening me?" The beginnings of a scowl contort her smug expression into something decidedly more confused.

"If that's what it takes to make you back off from things you have no business poking around in, then _yes_," Itachi emphasizes, his dark eyes glittering with a determined ferocity, "You can take it as that."

"Well," Sakura chirps, not without a hint of mockery, "Lucky for me, there isn't much you can do in your current situation to back up your alleged threats."

"Sakura," Itachi sighs, and she doesn't miss the weariness that escapes in that short breath, "It's for the best that you know next to nothing about me, about my organization, or even about the events surrounding Shisui's death. Leave that mess to the police, for your own sake."

All lingering vestiges of playful combativeness and eagerness to trump Itachi with her deductive prowess ebbs away at this advice. Last night and earlier this morning, she had been too much inside her own head trying to sort out mental puzzles and figure out what had bothered her so much about her interview with Itachi – so much, so that she never stopped to question the drive that pushed her to go digging into matters she couldn't get herself out of if she discovered something not meant for her eyes. And something like that, if she was to unwittingly come across it, is bound to exist in the circumstances which link Itachi to the Akatsuki. Whether or not the local police happen to be prepared for something of this magnitude is a different matter entirely. What Sakura knows for certain, however, is that she definitely isn't.

_What am I doing?_

But, even as she sees the validity in Itachi's warning, there is one thing that prompts her to keep sticking her nose where it doesn't belong.

The memory of a pale, dark-haired boy furiously pedaling his mountain bike up and down every street in the city couldn't be erased.

The first time she had called out to Sasuke as he sped past her house, he barely turned to acknowledge her waving with a look so fierce it stopped her mid-sentence. The second time she caught him riding down her street she was ready, her bike pitched over on its side on the front lawn. She asked if she could join him; she really did want to help. Sasuke had slowed down that time, but declined the offer, throwing in an extra "You're really annoying" just to make sure she stayed put.

The third time had been the charm, as it supposedly tends to be. She had been sitting out in the yard, sprawled out on a beach towel, trying to look for all the world like she was too far into her book to notice the whirring of bicycle tires going past. As minimally interested as possible, she had glanced up from the pages of her social studies textbook to see her classmate making his daily rounds. This time she had curbed the enthusiasm wishing to bubble forth, and had offered him a water bottle from the small cooler next to her towel. He didn't bother to ask why Sakura had found it necessary to pack a cooler to sit out on her own front lawn with, but he did (much to her delight) stop and accept the drink with a short "Thanks" and what Sakura believed counted as a smile.

Back then, that's all she had wanted, all she had needed to be happy.

"I appreciate your concern," Sakura begins thoughtfully, as though mulling something over, "But, does that mean I'm correct in assuming you knew about your cousin's murder before you left?" she leans forward in earnest, "You know who did it?"

"Will you stop asking more questions if I answer that?"

He's clearly frowning now, and Sakura can't help but feel like an obstinate child constantly asking "Why?" and "How?"

Still, she believes Itachi deserves her honesty, though she isn't entirely sure why she feels that way or if she should. Though he has held back some details that the police are certainly after, she can't say she has detected any dishonesty in Itachi.

"Probably not," Sakura smiles sheepishly, "But I can compromise with the guarantee that I'll leave you alone for the rest of the day."

Itachi leans back into his pillows, his chin tilting up as he regards the rough-textured ceiling in silent debate with himself.

"Perhaps that is the best I can hope for," he says at last, "Alright, Sakura, I'll tell you. But I am serious when I say this is information you're better off without. Do you still wish to know?"

"Itachi-san," Sakura's eyebrow arches in amusement, "I wouldn't know you to be anything other than serious. Go ahead," she gesticulates with her hand for him to proceed.

"Shisui was murdered before he was ever reported as missing. There was no attempt at kidnapping, contrary to the early speculation. And yes," his eyes meet Sakura's, answering before she can ask the question lingering on her lips, "I know the people responsible for my cousin's death. There is an underbelly to this city, Sakura, did you know that?"

He notes the way she swallows, wordless and attentive to this news.

"What do you mean by that? Like gangs? Drugs and prostitution?"

"Yes and no. All of that is inherent to civilization, especially to prosperous cities like Konoha. Man cannot be separated from his vices. But other than your list of usual suspects, there is something larger and more significant at work here. Something that doesn't need to rely on darkness and dank holes to hide in, but can operate in the daylight behind a benign façade."

It takes Sakura a moment to thoroughly chew on this new information, and her thought process slips into spoken words occasionally as she dissects Itachi's statements.

"Something that can act in the daylight…and wears a mask to make themselves look good…Are we talking politics here, Itachi-san?" Sakura asks incredulously.

"Precisely," his tone is bland, but Sakura detects mild distaste in the light scrunch of his eyebrows.

"Hold on," Sakura waves her hand flippantly near her head as if to dispel baffling thoughts, "You're saying your cousin got on the bad side of some public figure here in Konoha? But he was only in high school at the time, how could he have even been on the radar of anyone like that?"

Itachi tsks his tongue in disapproval, "That wasn't part of the agreement. I've answered your questions to an acceptable extent."

_Acceptable my ass._

Sakura grinds her teeth, but forces her lips into a polite, albeit forced, smile.

"Of course, I'll leave you to rest," Sakura replies with all the pep she can muster despite the fact that she is mentally clawing off Itachi's small smirk. Gathering the yearbook and her purse, she heads for the open door that leads out into the bustling hallways of the Suna hospital, but hesitates on making an actual departure.

"I was told by one of the nurses that you've been unconscious since they brought you into the ER so I assume you have yet to be made aware of your condition...Though I'm sure you realize it's not good," Sakura frowns slightly at Itachi's reaction…or lack thereof.

"Your lungs are accumulating fluid which is interfering with your breathing, as you might guess…This can be caused by several different factors, but in your case, the problem lies in your heart. Your left ventricle is being overworked and weakened, making it unable to pump out enough of the blood it receives from your lungs. As a result, pressure is building up in your heart. You were previously being treated with morphine pills while in prison, but you're now going to be started on a new regimen of medication to reduce the pressure. It's a diuretic, so, uh, be prepared for frequent bathroom trips."

Sakura is thankful for her years of schooling that allow her to say that with a straight face (and only the slightest impulse to blush). There's just something about the stoic, young man that leaves her feeling young and foolish, as though she'll never fully grow up to be as world-wise as he is now.

Although, considering the events that have brought him up to this point, she supposes it might be for the best.

"Thank you for informing me," Itachi answers politely. No one had turned up the light from its dim setting over Itachi's headboard, but by the looks of it, he'll be falling back to sleep shortly after she leaves.

"I'll be checking in with you soon. Have a good day."

And with that, the young doctor stalks past the security guard, acknowledging him with a curt nod. She plans to head home to put all of this out of her mind for the remainder of her day off. She'll take a soak in the bathtub with a book and maybe a glass of wine like she had always thought about doing, and then she'll spend the rest of the day watching brain-numbing reality TV shows and eating junk food or anything that can be easily microwaved.

_Sounds about perfect._

* * *

><p>Itachi had never been one to wait around for the perfect opportunity. <em>He made them<em>.

Admittedly, waking up in a hospital room with bad lighting casting shadows everywhere and having a heart-shaped face hovering over him too close for comfort had caused him to lash out a bit too harshly. However, given the last thing he remembered before waking up in the hospital had been the Suna officers dragging him out of his cell in cuffs and shackles, he supposes it had been somewhat reasonable. He remembers collapsing to the floor and coughing. A lot. After that…just blurs of semi-lucid quality. His body being lifted onto something flat by several sets of hands. The bright sting of sunlight assaulting his barely open eyes…it had felt warm on his face, an odd sort of relief. Then the blare of sirens that had accompanied what was likely a speedy trip to the hospital.

And he remembers a hand on his right forearm. Not one holding him in place or trying to restrain him, but simply resting there as though to assure him of its presence.

Of course his suspicions tell him it had to have been Sakura. Who else would dare lay a hand on him like that?

He finds her strange, but at least interesting. Even after all these years there is still something about her that is reminiscent and familiar of how he envisions her in his memories. Back then, he had not known her well. Sasuke did not bring home very many friends to play with after school, but among the ones he did, was a pink-haired girl. Though Itachi figured she hadn't been so much as invited, as she had chosen to tag along with his little brother and the other loud-mouthed, blonde kid that showed up occasionally to play at the Uchiha residence.

She had been shy but polite the few times they crossed paths in the kitchen or the basement where Sasuke and the other boy liked to play video games sprawled out on the floor and Sakura sat on the couch, appearing to be content just watching them.

Itachi had never imagined their paths would cross again after he defected, and had probably all but forgotten about her before he even left. But coming back to Konoha had dredged up long-ago memories, some very much unwanted and some seemingly inconsequential. Sakura had been in the latter category, merely an add-on to memories of Sasuke and life in his old family home. But what had struck him back then and what shone now in those memories of days past, was the way she had adored his younger brother, had followed him unerringly and with complete devotion like a puppy after its master. Sasuke had been too young to see it for what it was, or had been completely indifferent to the feelings of silly, little girls, but Itachi recognized it immediately.

Love can be reckless and unkind, but still burn brightly nonetheless. If no one else, Itachi believed she would have information on his little brother. Seeking answers from his family would be out of the question.

Now, after his minor curiosity had gone unfulfilled, he has still found a use for the young doctor.

Gently, he carries the limp body of the nurse to his vacated hospital bed and pulls the sheets up to her neck to cover her scrubs. After much patience and three periodic check-ins throughout the night, his luck finally made an appearance when a young nurse with long, brunette hair came by on her rounds, stopping to mark down a few things on the clipboard resting on the nightstand.

It had been all too easy to feign drowsiness as her pen scratched against paper, asking with tired, squinting eyes if she could loosen the restraint on his left wrist as it was beginning to chafe and keeping him from sleep. All too compliantly, she bent over to unfasten the buckles and metal pins attaching the straps on the guard rail to his arm to adjust to a more comfortable setting.

It had been enough for Itachi to thrust his hand free the rest of the way and plunge the needle of sedative he had pickpocketed earlier into her neck. Acquiring the sedative had been a bit of extra luck earlier this morning as Sakura had unknowingly distracted the older nurse and guard standing near his bed. With the length of his restraints shortened, he had just barely managed to slip his fingers into the opening of the pocket on the nurse's old fashioned apron.

After that, it had been a simple matter of undoing the restraint on his other wrist with his newly freed hand.

Carefully, he turns the unconscious woman's face to the side, giving her a view of the room's wide window if only she could open her eyes to enjoy the clear night sky. Combing his fingers through a few loose strands of hair to fall over her face in case any nurses passing by should look too closely, he decides he's done what he can with his temporary (and unsuspecting) replacement. Rummaging through the dresser the hospital supplies every patient's room with, he finds the ill-fitting, gray prison uniform and matching slip-on deck shoes. Opting to leave behind the gray, smock-like shirt and just make do with the less conspicuous white undershirt, he purposely eats away the distance between him and his means of escape in three relaxed strides. Drawing the vertical slatted blinds off to the side and out of the way, his view of the outside world is left unobstructed.

If he's being completely honest with himself, since leaving behind his home, it's moments like this that he has come to covet the most – ones where he's on the cusp of certain freedom. Casting a glance back over his shoulder at the partially open door letting light from the hallway seep into the otherwise darkened room, he affirms that no one is walking by in the quiet, loneliest hours of the night. If there is a guard waiting just beyond the door, he hasn't stirred. As for the nurse, the features of her pale face are faintly visible in the natural light of the moon. She sleeps peacefully and oblivious to his actions, though he recognized the beginnings of panic draining into her eyes as he pierced her flesh with the needle. He had been lucky it had worked its way quickly enough into her system before she had the good sense to scream.

Still, there is no time to give in to the guilty voice of his conscience. The nurse would be no worse for wear in the morning after getting a long night's sleep. He would have no later than tomorrow's scheduled breakfast before the police would be set into motion and on his tail once again. He had come to Konoha to deliver a message and now that a firmer sense of security had been established, he could return to other business matters.

Now, it's time to move on and calculate his next move. If Sasuke isn't in Konoha, he'd have to get back to the Akatsuki where spies and information infiltration came a bit more easily.

However, he needs to visit a pharmacy…or rather his newly appointed supplier. But first, he needs to put a bit more distance between himself and the Suna hospital. Tugging off the sheets from the identical bed across the room from his, he ties the fabric into knots with practiced ease, almost bored with the simple, familiar task. Attaching the self-made escape line with a clove hitch knot to the foot of the empty bed, Itachi opens the window overlooking the backyard property of the hospital. Not far from the hospital's perimeter, the landscape turns to dust and dirt with scraggly vegetation and a few lonesome cacti. Fortunately, the hospital took appearances into account and had used the donations of some wealthy benefactor to spruce up the lawns surrounding the building. Being on the third floor, he'd still have a bit of a fall once he ran out of length from the sheets, but if he lined up his release, he could safely land on the rather leafy shrubs lining the building.

Stepping up and crouching on the windowsill with his back to the outside world, he tests the quality of his fastening work and, satisfied, begins the arduous trip down the side of the brick building, his breathing just a bit heavier than he'd like.

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><p><span><strong>Author's Note:<strong>** Sorry this update is coming out a couple weeks later than I had planned. But this chapter has laid out some of the important groundwork for the future of the story. Itachi knows who killed his cousin and Sakura is beginning to understand that danger not only exists in remote, impoverished nations, but can be as close as home. And what's more, Itachi makes it sound like he purposely strode into Konoha on a mission. Did he mean to get caught too?**

**On a completely different note, it's hard to believe the Naruto manga is drawing to a close. Somehow it's like saying good-bye to an old childhood friend you know you might never see again as life takes you in different directions. But that's just my take (I could be crazy).**

**Thanks for reading!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:**** Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto.**

**Rated M:**** Due to coarse language, violence, and some adult themes.**

* * *

><p>Sakura hadn't sat on her laurels after leaving Itachi to his own devices at the hospital. For all her self-assurances that she'd go home to clear her head of murders and political chess games, she ended up digging deeper into the mystery surrounding Shisui Uchiha's disappearance and eventual recovery. She couldn't leave it alone; the more Itachi insisted it wasn't something worth risking her own safety for, the more her certainty grew that it was.<p>

_Someone is hiding something about that boy._

Her sources were limited to the Internet, and though she downed a glass of red wine, it did nothing to soothe the antsy excitement crawling through her fingers as she tapped at her keyboard and scrolled down the meager listing of relevant webpages. Her search ended with little to show for her efforts; just a collection of images of school photos repeatedly used by the media and an article from the local newspaper stating the day he went missing and what he was last seen wearing.

Trying to find out who Shisui was as a person was even more futile than attempting to find out details about his death. About all she could surmise was that he was an average kid in high school; he played on the school's baseball team, but she couldn't even learn what position, much less anything more significant.

As to how he was in connection with a politician, she can't even begin to hazard a guess. It's not until the next morning while she's standing in front of the bathroom mirror half asleep with a toothbrush stuck in her mouth that the idea bursts into being.

_I'm such an idiot!_

In her pink woolen socks, Sakura slides across the aluminum floor of her kitchen to reach for the cell phone on the counter. Perhaps due to her thirst for knowledge the previous evening, she had overlooked the most obvious course of action: contacting the Konoha police department for a copy of the report made on Shisui. They had willingly provided her with their reports on Itachi and his known activity during his time with the Akatsuki so, surely, they would hand over their information on a case that had gone unresolved for more than a decade.

Scrolling through her call log for the date she last contacted Fugaku Uchiha about her meetings with his son, her eyes, now bright and awake, alight on the digits that will put her in touch with the police. Spitting out a mouthful of minty fresh paste into the kitchen sink, she swipes the pack of her palm across her lips while punching the call button with her other hand.

And with just a simple exchange of words, a request is put in with the records division to obtain a copy of the files. They'll be ready for pick-up tomorrow and Sakura cheerfully returns to her closet of a bathroom to finish washing her face.

However, the sound of her cell phone has her skipping back into the kitchen, her spirits high and boisterous on such a beautiful morning. The seasons are just about to transition from the last dregs of summer to the beginnings of a colorful fall, with all the pleasurable accompaniments of cider, scarves, and walking through trails of crunchy leaves in the park. But as Sakura's eyes scan the screen to see the identity of her caller, a frown begins to sink her happy mood.

_Kankuro?_

She doesn't know why, but a bad feeling pours into her stomach with grim certainty that this isn't a call for chit-chat, but business.

"Hello?"

"Sakura! I need to know where you are right now," Kankuro's voice, though rushed, carries with it the heavy tone of authority that has grown on him during his years with the police force.

"Kankuro, what's this about? I'm at home right now, getting ready for work. I need to be in by 8:00. Is something the matter?"

On the other end, she hears a short exhale of breath, and her senses pick up the note of relief.

Apprehension has the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end, agonizing over what she's about to find out.

_Please don't be about Itachi. Please don't be about Itachi. Please – _

"There was an incident last night at the hospital here in Suna. One of the nurses on the night shift was found this morning in Itachi's bed."

_Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit sh – _

"It appears she was drugged. Itachi managed to escape his restraints…He's on the loose."

Sakura isn't aware of her rigid posture, but her brief lapse of not breathing becomes apparent as she sucks in air between clenched teeth before sinking them into her lower lip.

"And the nurse? Is she alright?"

She doesn't know why this is the first thing she thinks to ask, but it matters for some reason.

"She was still sleeping when another nurse found her this morning. She'll be fine – but Sakura – you're the one I'm concerned for. We don't know what Itachi has in mind right now and you had a lot of contact with him. It's possible he may come after you. Fugaku is already having his wife sent on a vacation of sorts and has been notifying the rest of his family. We just can't be certain if Itachi will attempt to target anyone or if he'll simply be making a run for it."

"So what am I supposed to do then? We don't even know if he'll have any inclination to come after me and I can't just up and leave for a few weeks to hide in some remote getaway while the police track him down. I'm needed at the hospital, Kankuro," Sakura can hear frustration leaking into her voice and hates the way it sounds so whiny. But really, she's in a bit of a pickle. To leave means burdening the already over-worked hospital staff with her patients, but to stay means risking the chance of encountering the Uchiha at large.

Without a barrier between them.

She can feel the beginnings of a cold sweat trickling down her back, her silken night shirt sticking uncomfortably against her skin. Now, all she can think about is how she wishes summer could go on indefinitely. Or, better yet, that she could reverse time back to the beginning of summer when everything was new and growing and Itachi had yet to show up on the marble steps of Konoha's City Hall, bleeding and half dead.

"I understand your dedication to the hospital, and if you'd rather carry on with your normal, daily life, then I won't stop you. But I think it's for the best that you allow an officer to take you to and from work, and we can provide one to keep an eye on your home. Obviously, I'd recommend not going anywhere by yourself, particularly at night, at least until we have a more concrete idea of what Itachi is planning to do," Kankuro explains as calmly and level-headed as he can to reassure Sakura.

"Alright, that would be fine with me. I appreciate it," Sakura replies, almost dazed by this whirlwind change of events.

"I'll get in touch with someone from the Konoha department to send someone for you in about half an hour. Does that work?"

"Y-Yes," Sakura answers, her jaw trembling.

"Hey, it's going to be alright. We'll keep you safe. And like you said, we don't have any evidence that he's planning to go after anyone. Most likely, he's hightailing it back to whatever hell whole Akatsuki operates out of."

"Ok," Sakura can hear her voice, but doesn't remember processing the thought to speak, "Thank you, Kankuro. Bye."

Robotically, she sets down the phone on the counter and then follows suite by sinking to the kitchen floor.

_Why is this happening?_

It's only a quarter past 7:00 in the morning, but the memory of struggling to fight the temptation of burrito-wrapping herself back into her snuggly nest of blankets for another ten minutes of shut-eye seems like days ago. Maybe if she had, she could have delayed this from happening, maybe even prevented it by sleeping through the beginnings of her safe, little life splintering apart.

_It's funny how so much can change in so little time._

But really, it's not funny at all.

* * *

><p>The first day of her assigned protection, though minimal and not particularly interfering in her life, went about as well as could be expected. Perhaps for her own peace of mind, a familiar face had escorted her to and from the hospital and provided her with some light banter and comedic relief despite the stressful circumstances.<p>

Genma hadn't seemed too concerned about Itachi being on the loose, at least not as far as Sakura was concerned. He seemed to be of the mind, like Kankuro, that the escaped criminal would be speeding across borders, maybe even oceans, to get out of reach.

It's all Sakura could hope for.

Nothing amiss had been reported since his disappearing act at the hospital. No burglaries or stolen cars. The police were actually quite surprised at this. Could it be possible that he was attempting to get away entirely on foot?

Answering the front door of her apartment to today's police escort had caught Sakura off guard. Rather than the cocky, half-smiling face of Genma, she had been greeted with the pale, smiling face of an old classmate from college.

His familiarity had struck her immediately, but placing a name to the face had taken her longer than was politely acceptable and after asking for it, she had to fight to keep her welcoming smile in place.

_Sai._

Back then, he had told her he was still undecided for a major. She couldn't help but wonder what had attracted him to law enforcement, especially when she had assumed he'd probably drift toward art after he had shown her some of the sketches in his peculiar book she never saw him without.

She remembers the awkward boy from one of her introductory biology classes during her first year at university. While she is embarrassed to admit it, she had taken a liking to the boy simply based on his looks alone. But what had come off as a cool and mysterious allure in the beginning, was quickly revealed to be an odd social ineptness that tended to rub people the wrong way. That truth had become clear all too soon during the first few weeks of class after Sakura and Sai became assigned lab partners.

He hadn't been adverse to conversation, but wasn't particularly good at engaging in it, despite trying his best to display openness with a wide, close-lipped smile. It all came off as too fake and forced and just plain _weird_. While Sakura had at first been the one to seek him out in the early days of class, she began to actively avoid him in lectures, seeking out single, empty seats surrounded by rows of people, just to avoid sitting next to him.

Still, she had felt bad for the boy who asked odd questions and appeared to have the emotional range of a tree stump. She had tried introducing him to her group of friends to see if anyone else could help make some headway with easing him into normal social interactions...

That's when the nicknaming fiasco happened.

Luckily, he hadn't held any animosity toward her as he drove to Konoha General, though he was just as stiff and off-putting as she remembered him.

Now, as she occupies the passenger seat next to him in the unmarked police car, she feels a bit awkward herself now that she's relying on him for protection.

_ Eesh, I don't think I've talked to him at all since sophomore or maybe junior year…_

An image of Naruto making the awkward turtle hand gesture flits through her head.

As Sai puts on the turn signal to make a left out of the hospital parking lot, Sakura's thoughts are suddenly jolted back to the present as she remembers something of importance.

"Actually, hold on a minute, Sai. Could you take me to the police station? I need to pick something up."

"Oh?" an actual, albeit muted, note of surprise in his tone, "That shouldn't be a problem. What is it you need to get?"

"I made a request yesterday morning for a police report, before I learned about this whole mess with Itachi's escape," Sakura waves her hand airily as if to dismiss it as just one big inconvenience.

"Ah, what is it you're looking into?"

Sakura, pleased at his efforts to keep up the conversation, decides that seeing as how Sai is a police officer, he's as good as anyone to share some of her speculations with.

"Well, as you may already know, I was asked to make weekly meetings with Itachi. Partly, it was to check up on his medical condition, but the Chief of Police also wanted me to do some prying to see if he would offer up any information about the Akatsuki."

Sakura pauses to take a breath and watches as Sai nods his head to show he's listening, though his eyes never leave the road.

_Hmm, perhaps he has gotten a bit more confident over the years when it comes to interacting with others. Good for him._

"Well, while we were having one of these chats, he said something that got me thinking…and he later confirmed my suspicions. You see, he admitted that he knew his cousin, Shisui, the one who went missing, had been murdered and that it wasn't a kidnapping at all. Itachi said he knew the person that was responsible for Shisui's death, but he wouldn't tell me who," Sakura continues, lost in thought at the memory, "He seemed to think it would be dangerous for me know."

It could just be Sakura's imagination, but her old acquaintance seems to inhale a bit sharply at this information, his knuckles pronounced just a bit more starkly as he readjusts his grip on the steering wheel.

"I think there's something to this case with his cousin's death, something that either hasn't been looked into thoroughly enough, or has even been covered up. That's why I've asked for the reports on Shisui's death," Sakura finishes, doing her best to keep Sai's reaction in her peripheral view.

_Maybe he knows something more about it too? But…he was about my age when this all happened and has to be fairly new to the police force, so I doubt he really does…_

Sai doesn't comment on her theories, at least not right away, appearing to be concentrating on driving them to their destination. But as they pull up to a stop light, he finally says, "That's very interesting. To think someone like Itachi would care so much to clear his name of a single murder when his hands are covered with the blood of so many others. I have to wonder why he would care?" Sai gives a slight shrug.

This response confuses Sakura, "I – I don't know. I think he was being genuine when he said he didn't do it. But what I did find odd was that he implied someone else, someone well known, was responsible for Shisui's murder."

She stays mum on the fact that Itachi had implied more than that, that the person responsible has ties to politics. Sakura can't place her finger on it, but something is off about Sai's behavior and it isn't just the usual lack of social grace.

Maybe she shouldn't reveal too much to him. Perhaps what she has to say should be left for the ears of the Chief of Police himself, or perhaps with the Suna police force.

"I think it would be unwise to take anything that man says at face value. Among other things, he is someone who knows how to manipulate others," Sai replies, his attention whisked away from Sakura's troubled expression as the light turns green.

Rolling smoothly through traffic, Sakura is left to contemplate in silence.

_Could Itachi have been playing me for a fool all this time?_

But no. Something – call it gut instinct or a woman's intuition – is telling her there is more to the story that must not be so much of a story as it is a concealed truth.

However, she no longer has the leisure of firing question after question at a restrained Itachi. The fact that she now has her own guard to prevent any kind of interaction with her and the Uchiha is actually almost an annoyance.

_I must be losing it if I actually want to face Itachi alone._

The car pulls up alongside the curb at the front entrance to the police station and Sakura lets herself out, tossing back a quick "Thanks!" to Sai who sits stoically behind the wheel, his dark eyes never leaving her figure as she briskly takes to the steps.

As he watches another officer on his way out hold the door open for her, Sai sightlessly reaches for the cell phone at his belt and presses the button to connect him to the most important man he knows.

"Sir, regarding the matter you asked me to keep an eye on, there seems to be an outsider that may present a problem."

* * *

><p>Tucking her ice-cold toes underneath her and smoothing out the blanket on her lap, Sakura spreads open the folder with the copied reports she had paid for just two hours ago.<p>

With a mug of soup on the coffee table before her (because bowls are for losers and people who actually do the dishes on a regular basis), sleep-deprived eyes and frazzled nerves are ignored as her finger runs across lines of text. Her lips soundlessly shape the words that tell her…

Not much at all.

The investigators had obtained statements from the boy's parents about what their son looked like and what his daily schedule had been.

According to his parents, Shisui had been involved in a local tutoring program between high school and elementary students to help them with reading and math. After his classes had concluded, he walked over to the elementary school on Tuesdays and Thursdays to meet up with his assigned pupil for a two hour help session. After that, he was supposed to walk home, arriving at approximately 5:30.

It was a Thursday evening that Shisui never made it home. After an hour past his expected arrival time and no returning of phone calls, his parents' worst fears began to escalate. While the little boy Shisui mentored had confirmed that Shisui showed up and stayed for the entire session, that he had even walked him out to his mom waiting in the parking lot, no one could be found to say they saw Shisui walking home on his usual route.

Sifting through the thin stack of documents, Sakura's fingers pluck at the page narrating the day Shisui's remains had been pulled from the river. A description was supplied to explain the task force's systematic scouring of all the local areas, and how Shisui's disappearance had overlapped with that of his cousin's. Photographs of the river banks were provided on separate pages, as well as the more analytical pictures of his remains after they had been brought back for testing. The shoe (with its occupying foot) had been one of the most positive identifiers since nature had damaged much of what was left; it had been the right size and same type that Shisui was last seen wearing.

_Poor, kid. _

But other than a stronger emotional connection and deeper sympathy for the young boy, Sakura gleans little from the paid information.

_Damn it._

Feeling highly let down and underwhelmed, Sakura carelessly tosses the folder onto the table in favor of picking up her soup.

_What's my next move?_

With deft fingers massaging her temples, Sakura concentrates. Information has always been her ally, and going to one of the country's top universities had provided her with access to a seemingly endless volume of knowledge to devour all for herself. She had adored her time studying in the library on weekends. But now, one of her greatest loves in life is letting her down. What could be the next source to try tapping into now that the Internet and the police reports have failed her?

_Should I try to seek out his parents to question them?_

But that seems much too invasive to Sakura. Shisui died more than a decade ago and his parents have undoubtedly had more than their fair share of grieving and living in the past. It wouldn't be fair to just drop in on them to pry and ask the same kind of questions the police surely thought to ask.

She curses Itachi for not only giving her just enough details to prevent her from putting this murder case out of her mind, but for then up and leaving before she or the police could squeeze anymore information out of him. Didn't he know her curiosity could easily get the best of her?

Too tired to dwell on it (for now) and aware that she has an early shift tomorrow, Sakura forces herself to go to bed, her puzzling thoughts keeping her awake for about fifteen more minutes before she slowly and unknowingly drifts to sleep.

* * *

><p>Closing the door behind her with a heavy yawn she can't quite conceal, Sakura gives a tired nod to Genma as she follows him back through the apartment complex and through the locked gate to his car waiting out on the street. Genma's enthusiasm for the new day mirrors Sakura's own and for the first few minutes of the drive, they sit in peaceful silence with thoughts lingering on their respective warm beds and fervent wishes for more sleep.<p>

With the sun just barely beginning to bleed its warm colors during the first leg of its daily ascent, Sakura pushes her shoulders back into the leather cushion of her seat, stretching out her legs as best she can. Mentally bemoaning the poor quality of last night's sleep, she makes a mental note to grab coffee and a danish from the cafeteria before she starts her rounds.

_Mmm. Cherry and glaze…_

Sakura muffles another yawn into her hand, and Genma turns the radio on to some early morning news talk station. While respecting that it's his car, Sakura still can't help but scrunch her nose in mild distaste at his radio choices. At least pick something upbeat to wake up to.

"You really need to consider changing up your schedule, Doc," Genma comments as he rolls down the driver's side window, hoping the brisk rush of air will relieve the stinging burn in his eyes from being awake at such an ungodly hour.

"Ah, yeah, sorry about this. I'm not quite high enough on the totem pole yet to throw my weight around over things like that. I'm there when they want me to be," Sakura shrugs her shoulders good-naturedly. Usually, she doesn't mind being an early riser, but with recent circumstances preventing her from getting much needed sleep, the hours are starting to take a toll.

Looking out the window, Sakura watches the few people out and about so early in the morning. A few people stand at the corner waiting for the bus, another woman is out jogging with her Labrador, making Sakura mentally sneer at such motivation to stay in shape. She really needs to start making use of her gym membership…

"H-Hey," Sakura gives a little, nervous laugh, finding the situation a bit awkward, "Officer, I believe you just blew through a stop sign."

Sakura hikes her thumb over her shoulder to indicate the back of the sign that Genma had indeed disregarded. Looking over to him, she notes the worried scrunch of his eyes.

"I saw it. Something's wrong with the brakes," he pumps the brake pedal, but the car doesn't respond to his actions.

"What do you mean? You can't stop?" Sakura hates how quickly panic raises the pitch of her voice.

"Yeah," Genma scowls, checking the rearview mirror for other drivers following him and then glancing to the sides for a spot to move out of the middle lane.

"It's fine, we're not going that fast, so we'll just get into the far lane and coast this thing to a stop," he says, and his confidence is a bit of a relief to Sakura as she watches him manually downshift gears and press the button to turn on the car's hazard lights.

"Shit!" he growls under his breath, prompting Sakura's eyes to widen in alarm as she looks back up to see what has Genma sweating.

A road crew is out doing repair work on the road, with a cluster of maintenance trucks and neon orange cones blocking the right shoulder of the road and forcing traffic to merge into the left and middle lanes. Genma, with eyes on the two cars following behind him, agitatedly merges back over to the middle lane.

Sakura can't help but make the pessimistic observation that the car is starting down a shallow hill.

"Maybe we can turn right or something after we get past the road crew and find an empty parking lot to come to a stop in?"

She knows there's an outlet mall not too far from here whose parking lot should be completely barren at this time of day, not to mention the various grocery stores and businesses.

"Yeah, that's not a bad idea," he agrees, his trademark toothpick swishing from side to side with the stress of the situation.

Sakura watches almost as though she is a passive observer to a horror movie as the car reaches the bottom of the hill where a four-way intersection awaits them. The stoplight directing their lane's flow of traffic is red for now and Sakura never thought she'd find herself hating that color the way she does now.

_This can't be happening._

She feels the adrenaline coursing through her veins as her flight or fight response kicks in; the butterflies beating violently against her rib cage are pleading with her to flee.

Though neither are watching each other, both Sakura and Genma sport matching expressions of "You have to be fucking kidding me!" as they take in the scene of a school bus stopped just a short distance beyond the corner they had planned to turn at, a small group of kids in the process of boarding as a tired mother watches them from her driveway.

Sakura's eyes flash back up to the stoplight as she leans forward with hands pressed against the dashboard, silently praying to the manmade object to change on her behalf.

Hopeful green clashes with defiant red.

Genma spits out his toothpick, "Hold on, Sakura!"

He reaches for the emergency brake, certain that the stopping power won't be great enough, especially after picking up extra speed going downhill.

Sakura presses herself back into her seat, gripping both the console and the grab handle on the roof of the car.

It's as their car screeches out past the white lines of the crosswalk and into the oncoming lane's path that their light turns green, and Sakura's world is set spinning as the car fishtails until they're facing the way they had just come from.

But at last, they've come to a stop and Sakura opens her eyes to the sight of people stepping out of their cars to check on them.

_Miracle of miracles._

Sakura's body slumps forward, the tight restraint of her seatbelt keeping her forehead suspended just out of reach of the hard, unforgiving surface of the dashboard. For just a few moments, she wants nothing more than to sit there and get her heartbeat back to a normal rhythm.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Author's Note:<strong>** Yay, action! There hasn't been too much of that so far in this story as it's mainly revolved around interrogations and establishing a kind of confusing power relationship between Sakura (the good, the authority, the weaker) and Itachi (the bad, the opposition, the stronger). And also, I really want a cherry danish after mentioning it in this chapter…**

**Anyway, lovely readers, if you have the time or any strong opinions about this story, please leave a review! Seriously, it helps me improve my writing when I get feedback, and while I won't write something just to please the audience, if it's able to be believably worked into what I already have planned, I'll more than likely do it because I do enjoy making you happy.**

**Thanks for reading!**


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